Legilimens
by Iesh
Summary: A glimpse of various short stories/drabbles hopping in my mind. Will feature different characters and pairings, including Slash!
1. Beetle at the Burrow

**Beetle at the Burrow**

Crinkling her nose in distaste, Rita gazed at the… house? It looked like several mismatched storeys had been heaped on top of each other, without any thought for security, compatibility or worst, aesthetics. The large overgrown garden behind the house with a pond full of croaking frogs didn't help. It seemed that Arthur Weasley was as poor as she had heard. Could it be the reason why he had enchanted a muggle car? Was it for a desperate need for money or maybe, a craving desire to be recognized? Or did it have a more sinister reason like hidden thirst for muggle baiting?

With a twirl of her wand, her robes turned a bright magenta. Someone had once told her that it made her seem more sympathetic. Maybe, this would mellow the poor Arthur Weasley. If not, well, she was sure she would sniff out the truth. Plastering a cheerful smile on her face, she knocked at the door. A short porky woman opened the door. The maroon robe filled with patches seemed inspired from the criss-crossed architecture of the house. And the shock of fiery red hair, desperately held by a similarly bright ribbon, only added to her general unkemptness.

"May I help you?" the woman, who she assumed was probably Mrs. Weasley, asked with a smile.

"Yes, Rita Skeeter from Daily Prophet. Is Arthur Weasley available right now?"

"I'm afraid he isn't home right now," the smile turned more strained and with some hesitation, she added, "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure," Rita smiled. One thing she had learnt over the years was that women (and some occasional men too) craved for gossip-sharing. And gossip was what she lived for. Though, the smile did disappear when she entered the house. Furniture and trappings of every kind were cluttered over the small room. Pots, cauldrons and utensils overflowed on the table. Washed linen were kept on a pair of chairs. She carefully stepped over a bronze trinket that closely resembled a sprinkle doughnut only to stumble over her next step.

"Are you fine, Ms. Skeeter? Sorry for all this mess. The kids just left this morning and it has been a stressful day."

"Yes, yes, it's fine," Rita adjusted her jeweled glasses and frowning at the floor, she continued, "Did I just step on a turtle?"

"No, no you did not," a man appeared to her side and slid the turtle in his pocket. "It's a Dabberblimp, my Luna's pet. Pity she couldn't take it with her to Hogwarts. I'm thinking of petitioning to the Governors to revise the pet list rule."

The absurdity of the situation became clearer when she recognized the stranger. Slightly cross-eyed with shoulder-length hair white as snow, it couldn't be anyone but Xenoplilius Lovegood. For a moment, the news about the distraught Mrs. Weasley seeking comfort in the arms of another man filled her mind but she immediately discarded it. No one would read any news concerning the insane Lovegood.

"Xenoplilius," she nodded dismissively before turning back to Mrs. Weasley, "I'm sorry for disturbing you on such a busy day but I'm sure Daily Prophet readers would love to hear your views about the recent events."

"Okay," the red-haired woman answered warily, "Would you like some tea while we are at it? Or maybe some sponge cake. I have some-"

"No, it's fine," she beamed. With a snap, her crocodile-skin handbag opened and she pulled out her precious Quick-Quotes Quill. She balanced the tip on the paper before continuing, "So, Mrs. Weasley, when did you learn about your husband's tampering with Muggle equipments? How did you feel? Betrayed? Horrified?"

_Tears filled her eyes when her husband's name came up. Her eyes held the story of an anguished and defeated housewife who had forever tried to temper her husband's dangerous activities and…_

Rita smiled while the quill ran on the paper. It would be the perfect angle- the heart-wrenching tale of the wife who had to suffer for her husband's crime. The public always love a sob-fest. Though, judging from the rate at which Mrs. Weasley was turning red, she wondered if she should try another perspective…

"What do you mean by anguished and defeated?" she shouted as her eyes flew over the words.

"It's okay, Mrs. Weasley. It's time that the wizarding world learns about the atrocities of Arthur Weasley-"

"MY HUSBAND IS AN HONEST AND HARDWORKING MAN!"

"Even the nargles like him," Xenophilius interjected in his signature dreamy voice and when the two women stared at him, he added, "They keep hovering around him."

Rita sighed. This was going to be trickier than she had thought. "I'm sure he is," she tried to appease the woman, "So what do you think drove him to enchant a muggle car? Was it the retaliation for being forever dismissed and looked down upon? Or perhaps, to earn a few more galleons, which is understandable given your… situation."

"Our situation is perfectly fine!"

"Of course. Lucius Malfoy has been openly calling for Mr. Weasley's resignation. It is highly justified given that the Statute of Secrecy was almost compromised due to his actions. What's your reaction to his statement?"

"I think Mr. Malfoy has been infected by the Wrackspurts. Or maybe he has been cursed by the unicorns," Xenophilius said though neither of the women paid him any attention this time.

"Mr. Malfoy has no say about the matters of Ministry of Magic." By now, Mrs. Weasley's face had turned as red as her hair. Her hands clenched the tablecloth tightly as she stared at Rita unflinchingly.

"Lucius is an upstanding member of the society," Rita succintly replied. 'And generous too,' she thought to herself as she touched the diamond hairpin adorning her blonde curls.

But it seemed that the defense of Lucius Malfoy was the straw that broke the camel's back. Mrs. Weasley shot to her feet and started shrieking.

"OUT! I want none of your bigoted drivel in here. Get out from my house before I set the house ghoul loose on you."

It wasn't the first time that Rita's questions had such an explosive reaction, and it would surely not be the last. She toothily smiled at the enraged woman. Summoning the paper and her quill, she took her leave but not before having the last word.

"It was a pleasure, Mrs. Weasley. Hope that you enjoy tomorrow's Daily Prophet."

* * *

Rita stared at the heavily-revised report which Daily Prophet's Editor-in-Chief had just handed to her. Major part of her article had been scraped with only Lucius' quote remaining along with the last comment from Mrs. Weasley. Even her title, _Arthur Weasley – The Monster in the Muggle Liason Office_, has been replaced by the horribly bland _Enquiry at the Ministry of Magic_.

It wasn't the first time. She smiled as she stared at the retreating back of the old wizened man. She had learnt the importance of patience since she was a child. She will wait. And one day, her words will shake the very foundation of the Wizarding World. Yes, her time will come.

* * *

**Written for Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

**Mandatory Prompt:**

**main character: Rita Skeeter**

**Semi-Optional Prompts:**

**\- additional minor character: Xenophilius Lovegood ; sprinkle doughnut**

**Bonus Prompts:**

**\- diamond hairpin (5 pts) ; snow (1 pt) ; ribbon (1 pt) ; Rita wears a color other than green (3 pts) ; a frog (1 pt) ; someone mentions unicorns but no one pays attention to what that person says (3 pts) ; "Did I just step on a turtle?" / "No, no you did not." [character who said second line] sticks the turtle in their pocket. (4pts) ; sponge cake (1 pt)**


	2. Toad

Warning: Crack!fic

* * *

**A Love Unlike Others**

I don't remember for how long I've been sitting here by her side. The first few petrifying seconds had given in to painful minutes, which turned to mind-numbing hours. The sun which once shone by my side, a silent vigil, has long since retreated to its dwell, dragging along the boisterous bustle of life.

My eyes never waver from her still figure. Her eyes stare ahead, unseeing. Her pale hands remain clammy and cold, almost frozen- frozen from fear. For a moment, an insane rage bubbles inside me. Why did she not defend herself? Where was all her intelligence, all her power when she needed them?

'And where were you?' a small voice interrupts my rant.

I tear my eyes away from her as a shaming guilt overwhelms my rage. I should have been there- by her side, protecting her from those… monsters! I should have fought for her. And yet, I wasn't. I failed her. Someone opens the door behind me, breaking the oppressing silence.

"Trevor! I have been looking for you since hours." The master grabs me and pulls me away from her. For a moment, her eyes meet mine.

'Don't worry, Dolores. I swear I'll make those centaurs pay for each of your tears,' my heart vows to her and as silently, it confesses, 'I'll always love you.'


	3. Green and Red

**Green and Red**

Green were the child's serpent  
Who did his biddings without repent  
Red were the child's whimper  
Who knew not one moment of pamper

Green were the teen's house ties  
Who taught him the art of truths and lies  
Red were the teen's house ties  
Who taught him the joy of brooms and skies

Green was the man's defeat  
Which was no small magical feat  
Red was the man's victory  
Which ended their dark history

And green were those eyes  
Which haunted his fall and his rise  
And red were those eyes  
Which haunted his fall and his rise 

* * *

**Written for The Treasure Hunt Challenge**

**"The map of 24 asks you to write a poem about your favourite pairing."**


	4. Unique and Huge, Indeed

**Unique and Huge, Indeed**

_A pair of bulbous yellow eyes opened. The creature rose as it woke from its deep slumber. The time-wrought cracks in the old stone wall, the huge expanse of shed skin along with the layers of dust gathered around testified that it had been a long sleep indeed._

* * *

It said a lot about Scorpius' desperate situation when he had to approach his Grandma Bellatrix for advice on his (lack of) love life. It was not that he hadn't tried his other family members but for some reason, the Malfoy's and Black's counsel tended to have disastrous results when faced with a Potter. The only one he hadn't consulted till now was his rather insane Grandma (and Kreacher but he wasn't that desperate – not yet).

"Ickle little Scorpius is still having trouble with his Potter, isn't he?" the old lady cackled. It sounded rather ominous but the fifteen-year old Gryffindor was rather used to it by now. "It's not like the time you stuck a fake moustache with permanent Charm, I hope."

Scorpius grimaced as he thought of his thirteen-year old self who wanted to be manlier. What was he thinking? "No, it's nothing as dire as that. But it will be soon. It's just that no matter what I do, he never even notices me. I might as well as part of the wall," he pouted.

"Yes, yes, it seems that he has inherited his father's oblivious nature. If that Weasley girl hadn't practically thrown herself at him, I doubt there would have been any Potters today."

"So I need to… make advances to him?"

"Of course not. You shouldn't lower yourself to the standard of that bloodtraitor. You just need to be different from others. Do something huge and unique, something that he won't be able to miss."

"Like what?"

"Hmm, back in my days, if a boy fancied you, he would challenge you to a duel. You could try that. If you win, you could claim him as prize."

"I don't think this will work. He's rather good at all these grades, spells and stuff."

"Nothing less than I expected from a fellow Slytherin," Grandma Bellatrix nodded with a rather proud gleam, "you could offer to Crucio some of his rivals. Maybe that will impress him. That's what your Grandpa Rodolphus did to woo me. What an excellent proof of love, it was. Those screams, that power!"

Scorpius blanched. "Yeah… I'll… I'll think about it."

He shot to his feet and practically ran to his room. But Grandma Bellatrix was right about doing something unique and huge. After all, Albus deserved the best. Maybe, he could convince his father to let him buy a whole Quidditch Team for the Slytherin Potter, like the Puddlemere United or the Holyhead Hapies. That was definitely unique! And the price was huge too.

* * *

_The Basilisk mourned the lack of company of a proper Master. It missed the rousing scent of the large forest with falling leaves and juicy prey. But most of all, it yearned for some proper neck scratching. For a moment, it recalled its late Master – the mighty Salazar Slytherin. It thought back of how Salazar used to cuddle it when it was just a small baby Basilisk, how he used talk to it about potions and how he used to take it on great adventures where preys ran abound. And those neck scratches – firm yet so gentle… those were what Basilisk's dreams were made of. Maybe it was time for it to search for a new Master, someone to lavish it with lots of neck scratches._

"_Yesssss," it hissed as it moved out of the Chamber._

* * *

Scorpius frowned as he stared at his Potions paper. His worries were far from Potions-related though. He thought back to his father's reaction when he had announced his decision of buying Albus a Quidditch team. After five whole minutes of spluttering, Draco Malfoy had categorically refused and had mumbled something about Potters and Scarheads.

He was brought out of his musings as a large sound ripped the silence of the library. Scorpius' eyes widened as he stared at his housemate, Lincoln Creevey who had turned a deep shade of red and was desperately trying to hide behind his books. By his side, Frank Longbottom had burst in fits of laughter though the blond-haired Gryffindor found that the gagging scent was far from amusing.

"I…" Scorpius rose from his seat, unable to breathe anymore, "I… something."

He grabbed his bag and got out of the library as fast as he could. After some wandering along the corridors, his thoughts returned to the green-eyed green-tied Potter and he didn't even realize that he was completely lost. A hiss broke his reverie. He rose his head and saw a pair of bulbous yellow eyes covered by a thin layer of translucent skin, eyes which were connected to a long seventy-feet snake.

A unique snake which no one had ever seen before.

A monstrously huge snake.

Scorpious grinned. This was way better than a whole Quidditch team.

* * *

_The Basilisk hissed in pleasure as the young Master scratched its neck. It was just like his late Master Salazar used to. It could get used to this. It nodded absent-mindedly as the boy kept talking. Even if it couldn't understand much, the scent around him told the story. And the boy smiled so much with those gleaming white teeth! And the Basilisk couldn't understand how someone could have such a bright shade of pale blonde hair. It was lucky that it has its inner eyelid on or it was sure that it would have gone blind._

* * *

Scorpius was giddy when he saw Albus roaming along one of the corridors, all alone. This was perfect. He tightened his red-and-gold tie and adopted his suave cool attitude.

"Potter," he said.

"Malfoy."

Thoughts and plans fled out of Scorpius' mind the moment those green eyes landed on his grey ones. He swore that they got even more beautiful with each passing day. He wetted his lips as he realized that the Slytherin was still waiting for him to say something. What did he have to say? But for once, he came to a blank and uttered the first words that came to his mind.

"Do you want to pet my snake?" His voice had strangely adopted a husky breathless tone.

Albus narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"It's just that I got this huge dirty snake, well, not dirty now. I cleaned it this morning. But it's really huge and I heard that you like snakes," Scorpius was practically rambling and couldn't stop, "So I thought you could pet it. You won't be disappointed, I promise."

For some reason, Albus' cheeks turned pink. "Are you sure you're okay, Malfoy? Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?"

"No! I haven't even shown it to anybody yet. I thought that you would like to see it first. Because, you know, I thought as something special."

"Yes, the first time is meant to be special," Albus' cheeks were bright red by now, "But I don't know…"

"Please! Just pet it and stroke its head a few times. And if you find that you like it, we could play with it together," Scorpius pleaded. This was his last resort. If Albus didn't see his Basilisk, all his plans would be futile. So he launched his last line of attach - his adorable puppy eyes.

"Malfoy…" Albus wetted his lips and then slowly nodded.

"Yes!" Scorpius felt like dancing. Grinning, he continued, "Come, follow me."

"W- Where?"

"There's an unused classroom near the girl's bathroom. I can't show it to you here. What if someone stumbled on us?"

"Yes, you're right. Are you sure you don't want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Scorpius didn't even reply. He simply grabbed Albus' hand and steered his towards the room. He grabbed his hand! Albus Potter's hand! This was so perfect. Now, he would show his Basilisk to the Slytherin, who will be awed yet a bit scared by the huge terrifying snake. And then, like the dashing Gryffindor, he would swoop in and promise him lifelong protection and love. Albus will be so impressed that he would kiss him. And it will be the first of so many more…

The boys entered the room. Grinning, Scorpius bowed and with a rather intricate flourish, he announced, "Potter, meet my snake."

Albus froze as his eyes fell on the immense snake in the room. After a minute of silence, he finally said: "You really got a snake?"

Scorpius frowned. "That's what I said."

"And not just a snake, but a bloody huge Basilisk!"

"Are you feeling a bit scared, Potter? I mean, it's completely all right if you do. Completely all right," Scorpius could practically see Albus seeking refuge in his arms, "I'm here for you. The Gryff- "

Albus moved past him and knelt down in front of the reptile.

"Isn't he cute?"

"He's rather terrifying, actually."

"He's cuuuute. Basilisk, you're so cute!"

"Are you sure? Look at those huge eyes! And those fangs, they could rip you out in one second. And did you know its venom can kill you faster than any poison?" Scorpius was at the end of his wits. Albus was supposed to be scared. How else was he supposed to comfort and protect him?

"Don't be ridiculous. He's adorable. Who's a good basilisk? Yes, you are!" Albus said, without looking at the Gryffindor.

"Damn it," Scorpius slumped to the floor. He failed, again! He should have expected that the guy who met Hagrid and his pets every week wasn't going to be impressed with just a simple Basilisk. After all, what was a measly snake compared to Ceberus, Acromantulas, Dragons and Blast-Ended Skrewts?

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah… It's just that you know… I… You… Nevermind."

"Scorpius." The Gryffindor's head rose so quickly that it was a miracle it didn't fall off his neck. Albus said his name. Oh, he had never liked his name as he did at this very moment.

"Yes…"

"Thanks for bringing me here. I really liked it," Albus smiled as he scratched the Basilisk's neck. "I can't believe that you found a Basilisk! And it looks so ancient. Oh Merlin, you think it's Slytherin's Basilisk? Salazar Slytherin used to cuddle this same Basilisk when it was a baby and now I'm touching! Do you- oh no!"

"What happened?" Scorpius darted to his side, checking for blood or wound.

"One of the scales came off," Albus said sheepishly, "Here."

Scorpius knew that Albus was gorgeous guy. He knew that from the moment he had laid his eyes on him. Yet now that he was looking at his childlike innocence, his blushing cheeks and the wonder in those green eyes, he realized that the Slytherin had a much deeper beauty inside him. Later, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy would look back on this moment and realized that this was where he had fell irrevocably in love with Albus Severus Potter.

"No, keep it."

"Are you sure? It's worth a lot of money on the black market."

"Yes, I'm sure, Consider it as a memento as our first proper meeting."

"Thanks. By the way, I do like snakes, you know."

"Yeah, because you're Slytherin, right?"

"Yes. That's what I meant." The Potter's cheeks were once again flaming red while the Basilisk hissed which sounded eerily like laughter. Scorpius beamed as he sat down next to the guy who has slithered in his heart.

* * *

_"Stupid Masters," the Basilisk hissed to itself as it snuggled closer to the two boys. The ache which had been infested with Salazar's absence slowly started fading. Yes, it could definitely get used to this._

* * *

Written for: **Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Mandatory Prompt:

The basilisk gets loose (not necessarily during the times it does in canon), but it just wants its itchy neck scratched.

Semi-Optional Prompts:

\- Hagrid

\- dialogue: "Who's a good basilisk? Yes, you are!"

Bonus Prompts:

\- Bellatrix (4 pts)

\- "Isn't he cute?" / "He's rather terrifying, actually." / "He's cuuuute. Basilisk, you're so cute!" (6 pts)

\- falling leaves (1 pt)

\- shed skin (1 pt)

\- someone farts (1 pt)

\- "It's worth a lot of money on the black market." (2 pts)

\- someone imagines Salazar cuddling a baby basilisk (5 pts)

\- someone laughs at something no one else thinks is funny (3 pts)

\- a fake mustache (1 pt)


	5. Grandfather's Wise Words

**Grandfather's Wise Words**

"And you will know when you see her," the wizened man said in his old wise tone, "The earth will meet the sky. Fireworks will bring day to the night. Chorus of melodies will chime in the air. She may or may not be the prettiest of girls but she will be the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. That's how every McLaggen lost their heart in love."

Cormac scoffed at his grandfather's maudlin words. As if he would fall for such mushy feelings. Girls fell for him, not vice versa.

* * *

The earth shook as the giants fought viciously, trampling both the light and the dark sides. Dementors cast an icy-cold blanket all over the grounds. Shouts and cries resounded in very corner.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Cormac turned just in time to see the green light rushing towards him. His whole body froze. For some reason, his grandfather's words echoed in his ears. Just when he thought that it was all over, a hand grabbed his collar and dragged him down.

The hard rough earth and the airy cold sky turned one as they tumbled through the trees. The rhythmic crunch of the dry leaves joined the loud chants of hexes and curses. Red and green exploded in the sky and lit his saviour's face. Curly dark tresses framed her soot-covered face. Dark brown eyes shone with anger and her mouth was set in a deep scowl.

"Get you act together, McLaggen!" she snapped as she got up, "Hufflepuffs are fighting better than you."

But Cormac could only hear the velvety tone of her voice. "You…your name?" he rasped.

The girl looked at him carefully with a cold expression. And then her small smirk appeared on her lips. "I'll tell you this Saturday during our date. I'll owl you the time and place. Don't be late. If you survive, that is."

The contemptuous look she threw at him showed that she highly doubted his survival chance. But Cormac had been part of this Slytherin game since he was child. He could see the worry shining in those deep dark eyes. But before he could say another word, she turned and left. A strange feeling rose in his chest, reminding him of a huge dragon roaring. As he left the forest, a spell grazed inches past his face. With a snarl, he sent an attack at the approaching DeathEater.

"I got a date this Saturday, you fool! Don't aim at my face!" he yelled in between the exchange of hexes.

That night, Cormac may have been part of the winning side but he had lost something as important - his heart.

* * *

**A/N: Written for The Matchmaker Game Challenge. Pairing: Cormac/Romilda.**


	6. The Doll

_**Warning: Contains torture scene**_

* * *

**The Doll**

A breeze-like lightness enveloped her, chasing away all the fears haunting her, tormenting her. She had never felt so at peace with herself. The frowns marring her forehead smoothed, wiping away the creases of needless worries. Her shoulders straightened as the burdens she had been carrying faded to nothing, burdens which she had never realized weighed so heavy on her frail self. She barely registered that her lips were moving. When she did, the realization didn't touch her. It just felt like an echo from a far alien world. She knew she had no reason to worry but she had to admit that the subservient tone left a foul aftertaste in her mouth. But the thought disappeared as soon as it came. Smiling to herself, she further ensconced herself in the calm of her haven.

She drifted ahead as her feet carried her forward. Following a sudden whim, she raised her right hand. She watched, entranced, as it rose in a graceful arc. Her left hand deftly followed. Like a play of shadows, they rose and dove around each other – nimble, poised and detached. Her wrists twisted in intricate turns. Her fingers bended at harsh angles. Her hands rose further upwards. She stood on the very tips of her toes.

A sharp pain darted through her body as her muscles cried in protest. She fell to her knees. Her limbs shook in pain and fear. Shadows loomed around her. She scrambled back but in a blink, they disappeared. So did the pain. She gingerly rose to her feet. The blanket of peace cloaked her once more and she desperately clung to it. Relief filled her, soothing away the fears and tensions rising deep inside her. She took a deep breath, reveling in the serenity. Wicked whispers rose and spoke in her ears – about pain, shadows and helplessness. She pointedly ignored them all. It was just a silly nightmare. As for the tremors raking up her body and testifying the veracity of the nightmare, she ignored them too.

Light steps led her away from the traitorous agonies. Her stance remained poised and elegant. She had never thought that her body could be so statuesque; for a moment, it seemed like it wasn't even hers… Her body stood the tip of her toes and suddenly, spun around. The world melted in a blur of colours. A soft breeze caressed her face, whispering soothing promises in her ears. The pace picked up and she started twisting like a spinning top. The blurring lines turned to prison bars of a cage. The wind slapping her face held her captive. She tried to stop her feet but they paid no heed to her. Her arms remained lifeless by her side. Even her mouth refused to cry for help. Bile rose in her throat as the pain turned excruciating. Then, she slipped.

'Blood, I had slipped on my own blood,' she thought, looking at her bloodied toes. Her body couldn't stop shaking as the meaning reached her. Raising her head, she saw the shadows standing in front of her. Jeers, laughs, mockery… All turned to a cacophony in her head, dimmed by the agony tormenting her.

The lightness engulfed her again, so inviting yet utterly treacherous. She shouldn't give in. She backed away, she cried, she flailed yet it still grabbed her and lifted her up lik a ragged doll. She could only watch in silent horror as her feet carried her to the open window. Her body climbed and stood on the sill. A fall of fifty feet greeted her. The wind howled at her feet. The tips of the trees awaited her fall like the outstretched hands of hungry monsters. She saw her knees bend as she stood on the brink of jumping.

'No,' she screamed in her mind but no words made it past her lips. Her own body betrayed her and was leading her to death. Death… the word rankled her, petrified her. She wished for anything to save her. And as her feet were on the point to spring, her hands finally escaped the clutch of the lightness and grabbed the walls around her. The rebelling fingers dug in, even if the harsh wall scraped the skin off.

The jeers behind her stopped. Silence throbbed in her ears, reminiscent of the pain pulsing in her limbs. With a shout, she was flung inside the room. Her head knocked against the wall. Darkness swam in front of her eyes.

"You did well, Mulciber. Our Lord will be pleased with how fast you have grasped the Imper- "

She knew no more as she welcomed the numbing darkness, which she trusted more than the deceitful lightness.

* * *

**Written for Competition: 50 Characters, 50 Prompts**

**Character: Mary MacDonald**

**Prompt: 'Rebel' (which was interpreted as the character's attempt to rebel against the effects of Imperius)**


	7. How Sirius ended on the couch

**How Sirius ended on the couch**

Rodolphus Lestrange sighed as the firewhisky left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Alcohol always helped him when his thoughts got the better of him. He poured himself another drink while his mind went back to the magazine he had discovered in his husband's drawer. The words flashed in his mind.

_Young Black Heir saves children during rogue attack._

But what had taken his breath away was the cover picture – Sirius Black, bloodied and dirty, dueling three wizards while sheltering two young children and a small house-elf behind him. Rodolphus had never seen his husband so determined, so mature, so… noble!

"Are you fine?"

Rodolphus turned and saw Sirius looking at him. His eyes raked over his impossibly boyish charm but he could see the glimpse of the hero in those concerned grey eyes.

"Rodolph?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he finally answered before taking another sip from the crystalline tumbler, "It's just that I saw the magazine where you were on the cover picture. It was, you know, the one which you had hidden."

Sirius' eyes widened. "How… It's not like what you're thinking. I didn't even want to have that picture. These guys came to me in Diagon Alley and I told them to leave, repeatedly! But Prongs was with me and one thing led to another. It wasn't my fault, believe me. I just-"

Rodolphus grabbed his husband's collar and kissed him on the lips. Frankly, Sirius talked too much. He couldn't even understand why was making such a fuss.

"So," Sirius frowned as they broke contact, "You aren't angry?"

Rodolphus snorted. He knew that they clashed over his immature tendencies but he believed that this was different. "No, not at all. I just wish that you could have at least mentioned me in the article. It could have been something like 'to my dearest and most handsome husband'."

"But I didn't even know you then!" Sirius pouted as he drew him in his arms.

"That's funny because I feel like I don't know you even now," Rodolphus' voice gained a husky tone as he traced a line along the strong jaws, "I never knew you could be so… different. I always thought that you were just a stupid Gryffindor, one with no brain at all," he smirked.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" The grin on Sirius' lips told him that he was taking it as lightly as himself. "We are after all the House where the ones brave at heart dwell."

"Hmm, yes, I must admit it was very brave of you."

"Oh, that's nothing. It was the least I could do for what others had given me," Sirius shrugged in faux-modesty, "It seemed like the thing to do at that time. Besides, I had my friends with me and it barely took a few minutes." Rodolphus rolled his eyes. He could see the haughtiness shining in those grey eyes. 'Smug git!' he thought fondly.

"Yes, but still, such courage needs to be rewarded. I was thinking that maybe I could agree to that thing you suggested the other night," the Lestrange heir chuckled as his husband's eyes widened comically, "I mean, if you are up to it. I didn't-"

Rodolphus felt a pair of lips slam against his. The tumbler in his hand went crashing down but neither paid any attention to the broken glass. Hands roamed over the bodies, pulling at the obstructing clothes. The blonde-haired moaned wantonly as a tongue traced a path along his neck.

"I never knew you were such a pervert," Sirius grinned as he unbuttoned his red robe, "If I had known that gracing the cover of PlayWitch could get such a reaction, believe me, I would have told you a long time."

Rodolphus frowned. "Wait, you were on the cover of PlayWitch?"

"Yes. What else were you talking about?"

"About the time you saved those children from rogue wizards."

Sirius blanched. "Bloody hell," was all he could utter.

"So you were on the cover on PlayWitch?" The sultry atmosphere which reigned a few moments ago faded in a blink.

"It's not… I… How…"

"And what was it that you said? Oh yes," he snarled, "_'it was the least I could do for what others had given me'_!"

"No, no, I didn't mean that! It's not- Ah!" Sirius ducked to avoid the bottle of firewhisky as it went flying above his head, "Be careful. I- Damn!" This time, he rolled to avoid a flying vase.

"You stripped yourself and _'it seemed like the thing to do at that time'_," Rodolphus practically growled as he aimed another vase at his husband. "Well, you know what? You can sleep on the couch because it seems like the thing to do this time!"

* * *

Written for: **Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Mandatory Prompt:

[character] posed for Playwitch/Playwizard magazine. Years later, [character]'s current significant other finds out that [character] had posed for the dirty magazine.

At least two years must have passed between the time your chosen character posed for the magazine and when their partner finds out. Your character must have been of legal age when they did the photoshoot.

(It can be Playgirl/Playboy instead of the wizard equivalent if one or both members of your pairing are muggles.)

Semi-Optional Prompts:

\- Sirius as one half of your pairing.

\- Rodolphus as one half of your pairing.

Bonus Prompts:

\- "It seemed like the thing to do at the time." (2 pts)

\- broken glass (1 pt)

\- someone throwing objects in anger (2 pts)

\- red (1 pt)

\- "I never knew you were such a pervert." (2 pts)

\- "That's a little harsh, isn't it?" (3 pts)

\- "I didn't even know you then!" / "That's funny, because I feel like I don't know you even now!" (4 pts)

\- crystalline (5 pts)

\- house elf (2 pts)


	8. Amortentia

**Amortentia**

"Merope."

All her life, her name had been yelled, spat or mocked; she never knew that it could be _yearned_. It felt almost like a prayer to her ears. Her pale eyes met his crystal blue ones. She could see her frail self reflecting in those orbs but for once, she found no scorn. The blue enveloped her, protected her and accepted her.

She held her breath as he reverently raised his hand, as if scared of sullying her. She shivered at the thought of being so desired, so loved.

"But he doesn't love you, does he?" a wicked whisper rose in her mind, questioning her acts and her morals.

Her smile dimmed. She took a step back. But all voices and questions faded away when his full lips caught hers. Maybe, he didn't love her but her love for him was enough for both of them. 

* * *

****Written for **Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Requirement: Het Pairing / 100 – 300 words****

Written for **Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge**

Requirement: Romance (genre)


	9. Drink of Despair

**Drink of Despair**

Pain coursed through his whole body. Albus could feel his insides writhing and burning. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes.

_He_ stood in front of him.

For a moment, sheer shock overwhelmed the agony. There he was, the same as Albus had always imagined. Those curly blonde locks framed his handsome face. The familiar roguish grin adorned his lips. But those blue eyes… they no longer twinkled in merry mischief but instead, they held an alien fury.

"No," Albus rasped, stumbling forward. His body suddenly recalled the excruciating pain. He gasped for air as the fire inside him roared fiercer than ever.

The old man kept moving. He clumsily grabbed his shoulders. He shook him. He slapped him. Tears prickled in his eyes. His heartache rivaled his physical torment yet his lover remained unchanged.

"No!" Albus shook his head violently. He closed his eyes, unable to watch anymore. 

* * *

Written for **Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Requirement: Slash Pairing / 100 – 300 words 

Written for **Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge**

Requirement: Romance (genre)


	10. Polyjuice Potion

**Polyjuice Potion**

Finally, the agony stopped.

Su slowly rose from the floor and turned to the mirror. She felt like time had frozen when she saw _her_ looking back. This time, Su didn't hide behind shelves or books. She didn't avert her eyes away when their gaze met. Like a hungry beggar in front of a feast, she hungrily took in the sight in front of her. Her eyes roved over the flushed cheeks, the silky black tresses and those lust-filled dark eyes. She was even prettier this close than she was from far away.

A shiver ran through her body when she caressed the pale porcelain-like skin. Her fingers grazed against the collarbone, the slender swan-like neck, the curvaceous breasts… Her presence surrounded her, intoxicated her – in that sweet scent of hers, in those wanton sighs and in the skin fastened to her body.

She knew that the Ravenclaw Seeker would never be hers but she was willing to contend herself with the little she could get. 

* * *

Written for **Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Requirement: Femslash Pairing / 100 – 300 words 

Written for **Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge**

Requirement: Romance (genre)


	11. Heartless Gardener

**Heartless Gardener**

The soft sound of boiling water filled the quiet room. With a dexterity earned from years of experience, Severus Snape deftly chopped the Chinese Aloe Vera strips. However, his swift and ordered movements belied his inner turmoil. Haunting memories slipped through his strong Occlumency shields, mocking him.

* * *

_Severus kept himself to the shadows. His eyes roved over the myriad of familiar faces standing in front of him. Occasional sobs and mournful whispers punctuated the priest's sermon. A twinge of guilt swept through him at the sight of a catatonic Black, supported by an openly crying Lupin. He firmly held on his impassive mask as his eyes returned to the sobbing widow._

"…_may their soul rest in peace," the priest ended his sermon. The first coffin was lowered in the grave, followed by the saddeningly small one._

"_No!" Severus' heart froze at Lily's wail, "Not my son, not Harry! Not Harry!"_

_He averted his eyes, unable to watch her crumpled form held by a tearful Minerva. He couldn't turn away from those haunting whimpers though. His fists clenched at his sides. His mask shattered as tears pricked his eyes. The guilt he had felt earlier returned fiercer than ever. He quickly disapparated, fleeing away from the torment. _

_Years later, Lily's wails still followed him._

* * *

He carefully added the crushed spiders to the bubbling cauldron. The potion turned pearl white with its signature turquoise fumes.

* * *

_Severus quietly strode along the corridor. His eyes swept over the mounted pictures – a laughing toddler zooming on a child's broomstick, the same green-eyed boy merrily clapping his hands as a blue-eyed rabbit hopped around, Potter cheering the child stricken with Dragon Pox. He could feel those familiar green eyes following him. He could hear the blame in those soundless laughs. Lit by the eerie glow of moonlight, the corridor felt suffocatingly enclosed. He turned his eyes away as he quickened his pace._

_He finally found Lily in the small room – sitting on the floor, stroking a ragged plush toy Thestral. Wrinkles marred her young face. Unkempt red hair framed her unfocused eyes. The brillant Gryffindor he had known was no more. All that was left was this withered Lily, defeated by the loss of her husband and her child._

'_But you _saved_ her, didn't you?' a voice, that sounded eerily like Potter, taunted him._

_He crouched in front of her. His dark eyes met her green ones. His heart sank at the lack of reaction. His hands yearned to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. Instead, he forcefully kept them at his sides. _

'_She deserves better than the hands bathed in her son's blood,' he bitterly reminded himself, 'She doesn't need a traitor's hands!'_

_As the dull eyes went back to the plush toy, he silently promised himself to rekindle the lost spark in those eyes, no matter the cost._

* * *

Severus nodded to himself as he ended the last stir. He added the shrivelled seahorse tails, followed by a pinch of crushed Unicorn Horn. The bubbling potion changed from a bright orange to a deep blood red.

* * *

_Severus briefly consulted the Mind Healer's record which was kept in the obsidian mirror by her bed shelf. Healer Smith's comments echoed in his ears as he ran his fingers along the green-tinged reflections. One year had passed since the Potters' deaths and Lily was still lost in her grief. No improvements were made. With a scowl, he tossed the mirror back to the shelf. _

"_Lily," he called softly, his earlier annoyance dissipating. The green eyes turned towards him. Doubts rose inside him but he stoically ignored them._

"_There was something I had to tell you," Severus' mouth felt strangely dry as he continued, "I was the one who gave the prophecy to the Dark Lord, the prophecy which led him to Godric's Hollow. When I learnt about the attack, I asked him to spare you. I'm… I'm the reason you are here, Lily. I'm the reason you lost your husband and your son."_

_His hands shook as he spoke. His shame almost forced him to avert his eyes but he kept staring at her. He would have given anything to see a spark of life in her – be it her famous fury cursing and killing him or her Gryffindor righteousness spurning him once again. A small part of him even hoped for a flicker of forgiveness, one which he didn't deserve._

_For a moment, joy flared inside him as a mild annoyance appeared on her face but it turned to horror when she spoke._

"_Don't be silly, Severus. James and Harry have just gone to the Quidditch game. They will be back any minute now."  
_

* * *

Severus leant back on his seat. The purple potion, stored in a vial, rested on the table counter. Part of him screamed to smash it to smithereens. Another part pleaded with him to simply leave it all behind. He did neither. Instead, with trembling hands, he grabbed the vial and rose.

* * *

Severus' silent steps left no whispers of his presence while he walked along the stark halls. He stopped in front of the solid gold suit of armour, which stood as a final defense, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore. Running his hand along the sharp golden sword, he barely glanced at the glistening blood or the metallic guard. He simply made his way through the newly-appeared door.

"Severus," Lily beamed at his sight. A small smile graced his lips, hiding his inner torment. Turning away, she continued picking up the stray toys and crayons. "Sorry for all this mess. Harry keeps grabbing everything he can reach and just hops around, leaving a trail of mess behind him. I swear he's going to be rabbit animagus, just like his godmother. Pandora used to drop everything around in the room too…"

Severus' heart clenched while Lily rambled on about her deceased son. He took the blue crayon from her hand and led her to the bed. Her words slowly trailed into silence while her eyes stared ahead unfocused.

"Lily?"

"Severus," the green eyes shifted uneasily and in a whisper, she added, "It has been so long since I saw them. I feel so worried. I mean, James will never let anything happen to Harry but what if… What if they need me? What if Harry falls sick? Can you lead me to them, please? You promised me, remember?"

Her eyes bore into his. His voice stuck in his throat. Gulping down his grief, he added with a shaky smile. "Yes, I remember."

He mentally fortified his Occlumency shields. He barred his emotions, tension and hesitation. He pulled the vial from his pocket and handed it to her. Through his impassive mask, he watched her gulp it down.

"I am really going to meet them, aren't I?"

No matter how much he pulled his mental shields, he no longer trusted his voice. He jerkily nodded.

"Thank you, Severus." She quietly lay down on the bed.

"Li-Lily," his voice broke, "Look at me."

The green eyes stared at him. More than three years later, life returned to them. He saw the Lily he had once known in her emaciated face. Gratitude and forgiveness glittered as unshed tears in her eyes. "All's going to be fine, Sev."

The rekindled life faded to nothing, taking along Severus' last remaining strength. His Occlumency shields crumbled to dust. The suppressed hopelessness and sheer grief engulfed him. Sobs wracked his body as he desperately held her warm corpse. A sudden hysterical laugh rose inside him as he bitterly realised that even in death, he had lost Lily to Potter.

* * *

**Wordcount : 1272**

**Written for Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition**

Mandatory Prompt:

Wordcount somewhere between 1000-3000

Include your exact wordcount (of only the story text, not including any titles/subtitles, "the end", disclaimers &amp; A/Ns) when you submit.

Semi-Optional Prompts:

\- glitter [can be used as a noun or verb]

\- spiders

Bonus Prompts:

\- seahorse (1pt)

\- Dragon Pox (2pts)

\- blue crayon (1pt)

\- a plush toy Thestral (3pts)

\- moonlight (1pt)

\- an obsidian mirror (3pts)

\- [character of your choice] is a bunny Animagus (4pts)

\- aloe vera (1pt)

\- a solid gold suit of armor (2pts)


	12. Trespassing

**Trespassing**

Dry leaves crunched under their feet as they made their way further inside. Derelict monuments marked their path, standing as silent witnesses of their trespassing. Albus paid no heed to them and kept his gaze on the young man leading him. His eyes roved over those blond locks, that proud stance, that roguish grin. He felt his own steps falter as those bewitching eyes met his own blue ones. Albus scowled when Gellert smirked at him. Both of them knew that it was no coincidence or accident. But his scowl faded into a smile as those full lips claimed his own.

* * *

Written for Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge

Requirement: Romance (genre)

Bonus Words: Coincidence, Derelict, Bewitching


	13. Unforgiving

**Unforgiving**

Her pearly transparent body drifted along the derelict walls of the castle. Hundreds of faces, young and old alike, swam around her, oblivious to her presence. They, trapped by the bewitching whims of time, lived in the same yet utterly different world. She continued along her path, ignoring the ephemeral beings.

She turned and through the machinations of coincidence, saw him - his prison companion. Draped in chains, he sought her gaze, the remorse shining clearly in them. Years had given in to decades, which turned to centuries and then millennia. Yet she could not find it in herself to mirror the forgiveness in those eyes.

After all, she was the unforgiving one.

* * *

Written for Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge

Requirement: Romance (genre)

Bonus Words: Coincidence, Derelict, Bewitching


	14. Corrupting

**Corrupting**

The eight-year old Harry frowned as he took in his surroundings. A derelict building, flanked by sickly-looking trees stood behind him. The drizzle felt colder than snow and the overcast sky only added to the ominous atmosphere. What truly baffled him was his completely healed body. He was sure that he had received one of the worst beatings from Uncle Vernon an hour ago. A small part of him wondered if he was dreaming.

"You aren't dreaming," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry turned and saw him. Dressed in clothes as shabby as his, the boy couldn't have been older than nine. His coat was drawn tight around in a futile attempt to keep the rain away. His arms were protectively draped around his pet rabbit.

"Excuse me, but where are we?"

"In my memories but in your head," the boy answered cryptically before he walked away.

With a thoughtful frown, Harry jogged to the boy's retreating form. But before he could speak, the boy continued in his usual drawl.

"I don't understand why you let that oaf beat you like that. You are much better than that muggle."

Harry had no idea what 'muggle' meant but he knew too well who the boy was talking about. "They do it because they don't want any freakishness in their house," he reflexively defended his uncle, with a strange dread in his stomach. How could the boy know so much? Was it a mere a coincidence that he was here in this dream-like place?

"No, they do it because you're weak!"

"I would like to see you take on someone much bigger than you," Harry shot back angrily.

"What do you think I'm doing?" the boy sneered back.

With a coldness spreading in his stomach, Harry realized that the rabbit was hardly the boy's pet. He could see the fear and dread in the animal's eyes. The arms draped around it were not for protection and care but for danger and imprisonment.

"Who- Who are you?" he asked. The other boy smiled at him, though his bewitching dark eyes shining through the fog.

"I'm a part of you, which was never yours."

* * *

**Written for **Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge


	15. Boy Who Lived

**Boy Who Lived**

The clang of the brass knells rang the whole night. The numerous ornate chandeliers filled the castle with a warm light, which spilled to the grounds. The sound of laughers resounded through the halls and rooms. Servants bustled through the corridors and navigated the winding stairs, juggling platters of delicacies for the feast. Similar celebrations could be heard throughout the pubs, houses and guard headquarters.

Three decades ago, the Slytherin Dark Lord had cursed the Gryffindor line, considered as royalty by many, with low fertility. But now, an heir was born. They whispered that he was so powerful that as a mere baby, he survived his accursed birth through an extraordinary feat of magic. They said that he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

Written for Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge

Requirement: Adventure (genre)

Bonus Words: Accursed, Fertility, Royalty, Headquarters

Written for The Pinterest Picture Prompt Challenge

Prompt Place 1


	16. Dragon Tamer

**Dragon Tamer**

Charlie swore loudly as he swerved off another jet of accursed blue flames. His hands slipped off the handle of his broom and he tumbled down to the rose bushes lining the ground. Thorns scratched his arms and face. Green leaves filled his vision.

"Who, in seven hells, plants roses in a Dragon Reserve?" he muttered to himself, trampling some of the bloomed pink roses.

He turned and looked the Hungarian Horntail, which stared back snootily as if it was royalty!

"Smug lizard," he flipped it off, walking back to his headquarters. If it hadn't been an endemic species with low fertility rate, he would have long turned it into a nice pair of Dragon Hide Boots.

* * *

Written for Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge

Requirement: Adventure (genre)

Bonus Words: Accursed, Fertility, Royalty, Headquarters

Written for The Pinterest Picture Prompt Challenge

Item Prompt 13


	17. The Snake and The Stag

**The Snake and The Stag**

Tom tightened his fists in fury as he stared at the specks of mud on his white suit. Raising his head, his eyes sought the perpetrator. Indeed, his eyes caught the young hooligan, who stared back with amusement shining clearly in his accursed green eyes.

With a snarl, Tom pushed away the fools milling in front of him. Through the drizzle, he saw the boy moving away, intermittently looking back and smirking at him. The cool water sliding along his skin did little to douse his fiery anger.

Tom followed the boy to one of the abandoned alleys. The black-haired hooligan winked at him, before disappearing through another alley. With his lips set in a determined line, Tom got rid of his cumbersome jacket and broke in a run behind the boy. His loud steps resounded through the stark grey walls, their echoes mingling into an ethereal chorus with the pitter-platter of the rain as melody. He paid no heed to the puddles of water splashing at his feet, to the drenched locks pressed against his skin or to the soft whisper of the rain against his ears. His gaze never left the one in front of him – the drenched shirt clinging to his lean body, the glistening golden skin, the proud but sure gait…

The snarl on Tom's face slowly changed to a mischievous smirk. Neither of them paused as the looming grey walls gave in to the lush trees of the forest surrounding the town. Moist leaves caressed past his face. The voyeuristic denizens of the forest peeked through their hiding, spying the uncustomary chase. He scowled as branches snatched at his dirty shirt, reducing it to mere tatters which soon fell away. But looking at his bare-chested prey, he realized that maybe, it wasn't so bad. Tom slithered past the giant trees, his eyes fixed on his prey. The boy ahead sped, jumped and slid past the cracks of the forest. Elegant, wild and cocky, the boy wove through the trees like a proud stag.

Tom felt something weird blooming inside his chest, something utterly novel. An exhilarated urgency filled him, further pushing him to reach the boy. His lips rose in a grin. After a myriad of turns and ducks, he finally jumped and came crashing down on the black-haired stranger. Their heaving breaths sang along the thrumming of the rain. Tom felt his breath hitch as the sight of the iridescent green eyes. They were so… expressive. The mischief and pride shone clearly in there. He spied a single drop of rain rolled down the full lips. He realised how close they were. Pressed against the wet body, he could feel another heart beating next to his.

He never knew who moved first. It didn't matter when their lips came crashing together.

* * *

Written for The Seasons Inspired Challenge.

Prompt: Monsoon - Walking as it drizzles

Written for Famous Witches and Wizard Card Challenge

Requirement: Adventure (genre)

Bonus Words: Accursed

Written for The Pinterest Picture Prompt Challenge

People Prompt 2, Word Prompt 9


	18. The Ugly Duckling

**The Ugly Duckling**

The black hair with mottled grey wings, the unbowed slender neck, the ineffable elegance… Cygnus Black was the epitome of Wizarding Nobility. His haughty charisma oozed of the notorious Black's pedigree. His musical voice, weaving the subtle manipulation with generous flattery, enraptured his audience. Andromeda watched her father as he effortlessly glided through the pureblood circles, leaving the ripples of his presence behind.

"Don't slouch like a filthy mudblood!" he furiously hissed in her ears, without breaking the smile plastered on his lips as he passed near her. Nothing gave away his anger, except for the minute tightening of his fingers on the glass of red wine. The thirteen-year old hastily corrected her relaxed composure. The slumped shoulders straightened and her face adopted a bored yet haughty mask, reminiscent of her elder sister, Bellatrix.

'No, not as good as her,' she despondently told herself at the flicker of disappointment in her father's eyes. The forced mask instinctively wilted under the sudden assault of self-pity. She didn't miss the pride in Cygnus' face as he stared at her sisters. The impressive Bellatrix was dancing with the clearly smitten Lestrange Heir. Narcissa, decked up like an enchanted doll in an ornate dress, easily mingled with several of the young pureblood heirs and heiresses.

And Andromeda? She silently kept herself to the shadows. After all, she was neither powerful and formidable like her elder sister nor graceful and beautiful like her younger one. She didn't have it in her to successfully wade through the sea of purebloods with her ugly flaws hidden under an image of haughtiness and pride. She was more at ease at sitting at the shore with her feet on the firm ground, away from the murky waters of dirty politicking. And if her feet got a bit muddy, was it really that bad?

* * *

Written for Father's Day Competition

Prompt: Cygnus/Andromeda

Written for The Pinterest Picture Prompt Challenge

Item Prompt 16, Word Prompt 15


	19. Meeting Harry

**Meeting Harry**

"I don't believe that's the case."

The wooden boat rocked under his feet while his body silently danced to the whims of the lake's waves. Paul Poliakoff grinned as the fourteen-year old champion turned at the sound of his voice. Mistrust filled those eyes while they roved over his Durmstrang uniform.

"Did you say anything?"

"Yes, sorry but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your friend earlier. I don't believe that you don't want to win the Triwizard Cup."

"I don't want to be in the Triwizard Tournament! I didn't put my name in!"

"Maybe." The Bulgarian shrugged. "But I heard stories about you, stories about defending the school against some unknown enemy, slaying a super huge Basilisk, casting a corporeal Patronus and -"

"I didn't plan any of those. Ït's not like I had any choice!"

"Just like with the tournament, right?"

For a moment, Poliakoff wondered if he should have chosen to stay on the firm ground, instead of this fishing boat that he had smuggled out of Durmstrang Ship. It would have been interesting to watch the famous Boy-Who-Lived from much closer. From the tightly clenched fists to the proud noble stand, he was every bit of the legend he had imagined.

'And maybe more too,' he thought to himself as the glowing green eyes glared at him.

"Ï'll be betting on you, little Champion." The Hogwarts Champion bristled at the dimunative term. "Don't make me lose my galleons. I really need some."

The Durmstrang boy smirked as Potter walked away without any answer. His calculating blue eyes remained fixed on the rigid stance, the rapid gait and the retreating famous icon. He knew that he was kicking in the hornet's nest but then, he didn't want to spend the year at Hogwarts standing in the shadows. His grandma's advice resounded in his ears.

"Go out and meet the boat – the easy route is rarely the most rewarding."

* * *

**Written for Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry Competition!**

Mandatory prompt: Write a collection of drabbles (100-900 words) (At least 3 drabbles) that are inter-linked

Word: Super ; Word: Enemy ; Era: Trio ; Year: 1994 ; Action: Dance ; Adjective: calculating ; Setting: Fishing Boat ; Plot: Grab the book, magazine, or newspaper nearest you and open up to a random page. Start your story with the first line at the top of the page and end your story with the last line at the bottom of the page. ; Sentence: I don't want to be in the triwizard tournament! I didn't put my name in! ; Word Count: 333

**Written for Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge**

Prompt: Write about a character who is in the books but not the films

**Written for The 'More Than a Name' Challenge **

Prompt: Poliakoff


	20. Betraying Harry

**Betraying Harry**

Just to make sure everyone walked out of the room alive, he picked up the pen and signed the document. Raucous laughs broke the tense silence. Paul Poliakoff glared at the laughing Karkaroff but the latter ignored him and snatched the paper off the table.

"I knew that you would make the right choice," Karkaroff smirked at him. "But then, it's not like you had the choice."

Paul glanced at his parents and sisters huddled in a corner with the two Death Eaters looming beside them with wands against their throats.

"You'll pay for this, Headmaster," he spat the last word. He refused to bow down to this monster. The painful image of a righteous Gryffindor flashed in his mind as he stood defiant in front of the former Death Eater.

"I don't think so, Poliakoff. You see the contract you just signed guaranteed my survival when the Dark Lord returns. Imagine how pleased he will be when he learns that I, Igor Karkaroff, ended his most detestable enemy. The lives of those pitiful servants I exchanged against my own will be forgotten next to my success."

Paul's clenched fists shook. Whether it was from fury or grief, he didn't know. He wanted to shriek, to destroy everything on his path. But he couldn't. He watched helplessly as the Death Eaters along with his Headmaster left the room.

"Are you okay, son?" his father asked as he hugged him.

Paul laughed hysterically in self-pity, breaking away from the embrace. "I don't even know what to think or feel. Have you ever been so shocked that you didn't know what to say next?"

"It's going to be fine. You just do what the contract says and we'll leave this whole mess behind us."

"But that's the thing. Can I really condemn him to such a fate? I don't know, Father. I just don't think I can do it!"

Paul thought about Harry, the noble teenager who had made his way in his heart during the past few weeks. How could he... He tearfully hugged himself as he thought about those shining green eyes, that mischievous grin. No, he wouldn't-

"Paul!"his father grabbed him by his arms and shook him. "Paul! You have to do this. You don't have anything choice. You signed a blood contract. If you don't fulfill it, you will die!"

"But, Father-" he started desperately.

"You have to, Paul. He will understand. He would have done the same in your place."

* * *

Paul glanced at the concerned grey eyes. His father didn't understand, he would never understand. All he saw was the legend, the Boy-Who-Lived who was the Dark Lord''s mortal enemy. He didn't know Harry, the amazing person that hid behind the fame. He wasn't there when the Gryffindor ignored his arrogant persona and listened to him, listened to his fears and insecurities. He wasn't there when the fourteen-year old hugged him. He wasn't there when Harry promised to always be there deside him. Tears escaped through his blue eyes. "No, Father. He would have never done this to me."

Paul's eyes roamed over the student-filled Great Hall. The colourful banners fluttered below the starry ceiling. The cacophony of laughs and conversations surrounded him. Smiling faces stared at him. And all these only reminded him of the hollow misery inside him. How he wished to be able to lose himself in their mundane life and petty concerns.

"Are you fine, Paul?"

The Durmstrang student turned and looked at Harry. He plastered his usual fake smile on his face while his heart broke at the worry in his friend's voice. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You haven't eaten anything yet. You didn't even have any breakfast or lunch today."

Paul looked at the untouched mashed potatoes on his plate. His stomach rebelled at the idea of food. How he even think of eating when he was about to sentence his friend to death. "I'm not hungry."

His throat constricted as he picked the full goblet from the table. His sunken eyes stared back at him through the amethyst-coloured drink. The coward he saw in his own reflection repulsed him, disgusted him. If only he was strong and brave like Harry...

"You wa-want to have a sip?" his voice shook as he spoke. "It's a traditional Bulgarian drink. I thought that you would like to have a taste."

"Sure."

Paul's heart broke at the trust in those green eyes. He never thought that he could hate himself so much. He recalled the laughing Harry as he introduced him to his friends, the righteous Harry as he defended him against the Hogwarts students, the noble Harry, the humble Harry, the mischievous Harry... Harry, the beautiful Harry.

Now, he had poisoned the same Harry.

His fists clenched in his lap while the Gryffindor drank the poison he had given him. He watched as Harry returned the empty goblet back to the table. He knew that the poison would work in a few days. He also knew that there was no going back.

He felt someone's eyes on his back. His eyes roamed over the entire Hall before they stopped at the Teacher's Table. Karkaroff raised his goblet at him, mocking him. Paul glared at his Headmaster. He smirked.

* * *

**Written for Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry Competition!**

Write about something that is difficult to do. It can be anything from telling someone something to someone overcoming fear. The possibilities are endless.

Mandatory prompt: Write a collection of drabbles (100-900 words) (At least 3 drabbles) that are inter-linked.

Color: Amethyst ; Food: Potato ; Item:Banner ; Action: Hug ; Dialogue:"Have you ever been so shocked that you didn't know what to say next?" ; Upper Word Limit: 3000 ; Lower Word Limit:725 ; Opening Sentence: Just to make sure everyone walked out of the room alive, he picked up the pen and signed the document. ; Closing Sentence: He smirked. ; Sentence: I don't know *name* I just don't think I can do it! ; Word Count: 888


	21. Loving Harry

**Loving Harry**

"I wasn't planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted. Because I know our time would have to come to end. Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page."

Paul's quiet words carried over the stark white room but he received no answer. He wasn't expecting one . It has been weeks since Harry had been admitted to the Hospital Wing. It seemed that his extraordinary power extended to even defying death from the most powerful and potent of poisons. The Healers said that he had entered in a magical coma and there was no telling when he would wake up.

He carded his hands through the soft charcoal black locks. His blue eyes stared at the pale skin, the sunken cheeks. He looked so frail, lying on the bed. He missed his laughs, his mischiefs...

"It's January 13th today," he carried on, breaking the imposing silence, "They say that Friday 13th has strange magical powers. Maybe, this would give your magical core the boost to wake-up. But even if you don't, I'll be here waiting for you."

"Tergeo," he cleaned the pillow before setting it back for Harry. He placed the white lilies on the table by his side. He had come every day to sit by his bedside. At first, his friends had protested but when he explained everything to them and Professor Dumbledore, they relented. It was his penance – to see Harry suffering for his sins.

"I miss you, you know. I know it's so silly of me to expect you to love me back but I guess I'm kind of selfish. I always was. I love you. I may be selfish, weak, arrogant but I do, I really do."

He bent over Harry's unmoving body and kissed him. And the red chapped lips kissed him back.

* * *

**Written for Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry Competition! **

Mandatory prompts: Write a collection of drabbles (100-900 words) (At least 3 drabbles) that are inter-linked.

Mandatory Prompt: Write a sick!fic (a story where someone is sick and that is the main plot of the story)

Emotion: Sad ; Color: Charcoal ; Plant: Lily ; Spell: Tergeo ; Action: Kiss ; Phase: I love you ; Upper Word Limit: 4275 ; Lower Word Limit: 111 ; Date: January 13 ; Plot: "I wasn't planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted. Because I know our time would have to come to end. Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page." Who is the speaker and who is the speaker talking to? Finish the scene.

**Written for Unusual Ships Challenge**

Pairing: Poliakoff/Harry

**Written for The 96 Hour Slash and Femmslash Challenge **

Pairing: Poliakoff/Harry


	22. The Coward

**The Coward**

Her fingers traced the sharp cuts of the rubies. The pale gold, intricately woven into a chain, glinted under the bright lanterns. As a child, Astoria had spent hours staring at this particular necklace, weaving daydreams about all her foremothers who had owned this ornament and their exquisite tales. She had pictured herself wearing it one day and living her own story.

Now, she despised this same necklace.

With a blank face revealing none of her disgust, she carefully slipped the chain over the neck, not unlike a terrible noose. The huge rubies weighed heavy on her chest, reminding her of her pureblood roots and the duties that came along. It told her of the roles cast for her and how she had to adhere to every single one of them. For a moment, she thought of tearing it away and breaking free of her cage. But she didn't. She settled for touching the harsh cold metal and recalling herself of her place.

"It looks splendid on you," a soft voice brought her out of her musings.

None of her features betrayed her emotions. She took the jewel-encrusted comb and started combing her golden hair. A slender hand brushed against her arms, coming to rest on her exposed back. The cold palm felt like a snake creeping against her skin – unfeeling, clammy and restrictive. Yet she never paused. She continued with her mechanical grooming.

"You look beautiful today," he continued, his breath sweeping past her neck. Once, these same words, these same gestures and this same man would have set her heart racing. But now, all she felt was the cold indifference.

"Thank you," she didn't even bother with a smile or any other warmth. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, as well as that of the man beside her – Draco Malfoy. Her eyes roved over his platinum blonde hair, his pale complexion and his signature elegance. By her side stood the older version of the man she had fallen in love with. Deep down, she knew it wasn't true. She had seen those grey eyes. She had seen the fear, the bitterness and the sheer cowardice in them. Her husband was nothing but the dry husk of the boy she had once loved. Sometimes, she wondered if that boy had even existed…

"Mother has agreed to have Scorpius with her this weekend," he whispered in her ears, "I was thinking that we could visit Paris. You remember Paradis Royal, the hotel we had been for our first anniversary. You loved it there."

"I'm really sorry but Daphne needs me here. We are expecting a huge contract from the Italians this month. If it gets approved, there are even three more months of work. Maybe we could reschedule for Christmas."

Her blue eyes remained fixed over the grey ones over the mirror. A shy apologetic smile appeared on her lips and he smiled back.

"Don't worry. It will be for a next time." She knew there would be no next time. There never was. The smile faltered when a kiss was pressed on her collarbone; it remained fixed as his lips trailed up to her red ones. Draco's arms had now snaked themselves around her. She rested her hands on his chest and after a few seconds, she pushed him away.

"We are going to be late."

"We can afford to not go," he replied in his husky voice, "It's just a mere formal ball. We'll send an apology note later."

"Draco…" She knew he was right. They were never invited to the important ones. They could afford to miss this one. She tensed as Draco undid one of her robe's hooks. She backed away, plastering a fake apologetic grimace on her lips.

"I'm sorry, Draco but I'm not feeling very well," she reasoned while she re-did the hook, "I've been working with the Boomslang Skin the whole day and the cleansing fumes had left me with an awful head ache." It wasn't the first time she had excused herself from intimacy. In fact, it had been years since she had been with him and it was always an elaborated version of 'I've got a headache. Go away!'. She knew that he no longer believed her. Even if she worked with potions ingredient on a daily basis, there were only so many times she could have had headaches.

"I understand," he said in a clipped voice, "Do you want a vial of Pain Relieving Potion?"

"I've already taken one."

"It seems that this party is bad idea, after all," he continued in a more composed tone, "If you are feeling unwell, we can skip it. It's not like they are going to miss us anyway."

Before she could utter a word, Draco had removed his cloak and was untying his boots. She merely nodded and turned back to the mirror.

"Granger had finally passed that legislation of hers," her husband said from the other side of the room, "The one that allows betrothed and bonded couples to annul their marriage. In her research, she had unearthed an ancient ritual which unties the bonding magic. She added that married couples already had such options in the muggle world, something with a died-force."

She could hear him pulling a face at the last bit but she saw no humour in his words. Coldness spread inside her. Her hands remained petrified on the clasp of her necklace.

"I heard that Pansy has already booked a meeting with the officer," Draco kept on, oblivious to her frozen state, "Do you want me to take an appointment tomorrow?"

The necklace slid from his hand and fell to the floor with a clang. For a delirious moment, she thought that she had heard the boy she had known years ago – that same confidence in the face of most delicate situations. Of all the moments, Draco Malfoy had to find his inner confidence… she hastily stifled the hysterical laughter bubbling inside her as she retrieved the fallen heirloom.

"It's not like you are happy with me," the bitterness she had known in her husband came back. "Do you want me to go ahead?"

Did she?

Unable to look at her husband, she turned to the mirror. She saw the fear and the cowardice, but not in his grey eyes but in her own blue ones. Despite her musings, could she truthfully leave it all behind her – the entire life she had known, her roots, Draco, Scorpius? Was she not as spineless as Draco for hiding behind her pureblood mask and refusing to confront her husband? Was she not as fearful because of the past?

Her fist tightened around the sharp cuts of the rubies. The daydreams of her younger self came unbidden to her mind. Could she be that woman she had dreamt of? Could she be like those before her and brave the world to make her own legends?

She turned around to face Draco. While she kept a calm façade in front of herself, a deep turmoil ransacked her mind. She resolutely raised her head. She opened her lips and an answer came out – one which she had never expected herself to utter.

* * *

Written for 2nd Blindfolded Competition

Prompts

Draco Malfoy as a main secondary character

"I have a headache, go away!"

Mandatory cliff-hanger ending: never


	23. All was almost well

**All was almost well**

Hermione ensconced herself in the armchair, nursing the hot cup of tea. She smiled as her mother took a seat beside her. Grey hairs had sprouted in her dark mane since she had left for Australia. The small continent had also left her with crow's feet around her eyes. Yet, Hermione thought that her mother looked as radiant as ever.

"So, Voldemort was finally vanquished?"

"Yes, and this time, it was for good."

"What happened to everyone? What about Harry? Ron?"

The green eyes shone with the same curiosity and insatiable thirst for knowledge that Hermione herself was known for. Looking at her exuberance, the young witch almost forgot the guilt gnawing inside her. She almost forgot the mistake she had committed.

"Well, Harry and Ron skipped the eighth year," Hermione said with a hint of disapproval though the fondness for the two was clearly audible in her voice. Her mother amusedly smiled at her answer. "They, along with Neville, helped the Ministry round up the last Death Eaters. Then, the two joined the Auror training which was heard to be very selective and tough."

Hermione's fingers stroked the warm tea cup as a similarly warm feeling embraced her. For a moment, she felt like she had just returned from King's Cross while she complained and gushed about her male best friends' antics. Her mother had the same small smile on her lips, like she always did when listening to her daughter. It was almost like in the past…

"And Ginny? Did she join the Aurors too?"

"No, the Holyhead Harpies scouted her during her Seventh year. She joined them as a chaser."

"That's great," her mother beamed. "And Hermione? What happened to her?"

The smile on Hermione's face faltered. "Sh-She went back to Hogwarts for the eighth year. She then joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical _Creatures_."

She took a careful sip of her tea, unable to look at her mother in her eyes. Her voice shook as she spoke. The warm feeling, which she had unconsciously lulled herself into, faded to nothing.

"She's my favourite character, you know. Did she manage to find her parents? Did she fix their memories?"

The cup trembled in her hand, the tea splashing on her wrist. Yet, the hot liquid did nothing to lessen the cold grief rising inside her. "Yes, she found them. She fixed their memories and brought them back to England," she smiled back, though it probably came out more like a grimace. She bitterly wished that she was a more skilled liar.

"She definitely deserved that happy ending, especially with her parents. No child should live like an orphan while they still have their parents."

Hermione returned the cup to the table and hid her shaking hands in her laps. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision.

"Are you fine, dear?"

She jerkily nodded and rose to her feet. She wiped her wet eyes but she couldn't turn to look at her green eyes. She didn't have the strength to be seen as a stranger by her own mother.

"It's-," she took a breath to calm her wavering voice. "It's just that I- I don't know if it's going to be published…"

"Oh, you shouldn't worry about that," her mother said from behind. "It's a fine story. It's better than most fiction I've read."

"Thank you, Mo- Monica. I'm sorry but I really need to leave now."

With a small sniff, she wiped away the traces of tears on her face. Without a backward glance, she walked out of "Tistry's Den" teashop. She wrapped her arms around her to ward off the coldness – the one blowing around her along with the one twisting deep inside her. As she wove through the criss-cross of the streets, she recalled the past few months. She had tried everything – spells, potions, runes… She had looked through many libraries, she had enlisted the help of many Masters, Healers, Obliviators and Aurors. Nothing had worked; nothing was working. The fear of failure froze her insides, the panic painting pictures of her oblivious stranger parents. What if it never worked? Her arms tightened around her shaking body.

Before she knew, she was standing in front of the Australian Ministry of Magic – International Floo Section.

"Hello, Hermione."

"Hello, Wenda," she smiled sadly at the approaching witch. "How are you?"

"Tired but well enough to cover the last hour of my shift," she shrugged. "And you?"

"Fine."

The look on the middle-aged witch's face showed that she wasn't fooled by her answer. Wenda Smith was the Auror that the Australian Ministry of Magic had chosen to help her look for her parents. She had even helped her with several Runes Clusters she had created to reverse the Memory Charm.

"What happened?"

"I thought that if I told my mother about my years at Hogwarts, it might trigger back her buried memories. But then, I guess that I just wanted to talk to her about everything that had happened, that I missed her."

Hermione's voice drifted away into a whisper. Wenda hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

"There's nothing wrong with that, dear," she said soothingly. "Believe me, you will bring their memories back. I don't know when or how but you will. My instincts never lead me wrong before."

Hermione nodded tearfully, drawing strength from the Auror's encouragement. "Thank you."

Saying goodbye to Wenda, Hermione entered the huge ornate fireplace. The green flames licked at the hem of her dress. The heat surrounding her reminded her of her mother's tea, her smile, and that warm feeling when she was with her. No, she wasn't ready to give up on that. She would read every existing book, if she had to. She would find every scholar or Master, if she had to. She wasn't losing her parents. The cold guilt and grief, which had crept inside her, faded away into a burning resolve.

"Leaky Cauldon, London, England," she yelled, throwing a pinch of the Floo powder in the flames. As her surroundings spun violently, her mind had already started going over the new possible ways to bring back her parents' memories.

* * *

Written for 2nd Blindfolded Competition

Prompts:

(mandatory) Favorite HP character: Hermione

(chosen)  
1\. Favorite post-Hogwarts career: Auror  
2\. Favorite method of magical transportation: Floo


	24. At the Seaside

**At the seaside**

Albus stood at the edge of the pier, staring at the unending stretch of blue. The sun beat mercilessly on his drooped back. His pale skin had long turned hot pink under the assault of the heat. But his mind was far away - with his sick sister and still immature brother. This was probably his last vacation before he had to shoulder the responsibility of his house.

The eighteen year old sighed as he turned to leave. But before he could take a step, he found himself airborne one moment and the next, he was feet under the sea. He fought his way through the cool water, spluttering as he broke through the surface. His eyes narrowed at the young lad grinning cheekily at him.

"Sorry," the stranger offered, "I didn't see you there."

"Bugger off." Albus scowled as he turned and started swimming back to the shore.

"Hey, please, don't leave. The water's pretty good."

Albus paid no heed to the placating words. For the second time in matters of minutes, he found himself dragged under the sea. But this time, he was prepared. He grabbed the offending arm and pushed the boy deeper in the water. The latter didn't relent. They dove. They rose. They swam. Albus no longer knew where the above started and where the below ended; he only knew of the silky locks between his fingers. He only knew of the toned muscles sliding across his body, testing and teasing him. A cocoon of water enveloped them, cutting them from the world above. Albus could only hear the soft gurgle of water in his ears, chasing away the worries haunting him. The scorching heat of the summer felt like a distant memory amidst the cool of the water. He was in another world, along with the strange cheeky boy.

Driven by their need to breathe, the boys broke through the surface. It was only now that Albus had a good look of the prankster. Blonde hair was plastered against his scalp. Beads of water slid only his pink-tinged body. And those eyes, they weren't a mere crystal blue like Albus'. They were a deep sea blue and staring at them was like drowning in unseen depths.

"By the way, I'm Gellert," the stranger grinned, coming closer to him. "But you can call me Gel."

"Gel as in the hair gel?" Albus rose his eyebrow, a small scowl still on his lips.

"Yes, because I can keep you stiff all day and all night long, 24 hours guaranteed."

Albus snorted at the blatant flirting. "I'm Albus but you can call me Bus."

"Bus as in the transport bus?" Gellert was close to him now. He could see him fighting the wide grin from giving away his amusement.

"Yes, because if you don't move away, I'll ruthlessly run over you."

"Does that mean," he could feel Gellert's soft breath on his cheek, "that I get to be under the bus."

Albus' cheeks flamed at the innuendo though he bravely gazed in the deep blue eyes. And before he could retort, a pair of pink lips slammed against his. Maybe, this vacation was exactly what he needed.

* * *

_Muggle!AU_

* * *

Written for The Seasons Inspired Challenge.

Prompt: Summer - Swimming together to cool off

Written for Greek Mythology Mega Challenge

Prompt: write about Albus Dumbledore

Written for The Pinterest Picture Prompt Challenge

Person Prompt 10


	25. Speak Now

**Speak Now**

Sirius realised that he hated the blinding light of the ostentatious tent as much as the looming darkness of Grimmauld Place. The cheery bright globes floated above him, twinkling like some fairies drunk on Firewhiskey. The pure white roses looked bland, utterly out of life. He scowled, crossing his arms in annoyance. Prongs, sitting beside him, was sighing morosely, most likely missing Lily. Remus and Peter were absent too for they were not "pure" enough.

As much as he avoided it, his eyes finally drifted over her. Standing tall and elegant with her face impassive, she looked every bit of the pureblood bride. Cold and haughty, one would almost believed that she was a proper Slytherin heiress. But she wasn't. Sirius had seen the woman behind that mask. He had felt that wild spirit, grinning at him across the Quidditch Pitch. He had seen the dare in her blue eyes with her lips hovering above him. He had touched that hot fiery temper of hers with her skin pressed against his.

For a moment, their eyes met. He saw the flicker of hope, of desperation for a miracle. He felt the Gryffindor recklessness rising inside him, to save her, to release her from the clutches of the evil Slytherins. An angry buzz erupted in his ears when he abruptly stood. The priest's sermon faltered and then stopped. Eyes turned towards him. Prongs tugged on his elbow.

Speak now. Speak or stay mute for the rest of the time.

But his mouth refused to move. Their parting flashed in his time. Was this not what she wanted? Did she not beg him to let all go? With a snarl, he walked away, his steps resounding loudly in the silent tent. He didn't turn though, for he could already picture the disappointment in her blue eyes. Like always.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 300 or more words of Sirius/OC

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: miracle

Written for Taylor Swift Challenge

Prompt: Speak Now


	26. Bald

**Bald **

The sparse green lighting drowned the room in an ominous atmosphere. The crackling of the lone emerald fireplace sounded like the hisses of a phletora of angry snakes. The milling crowd drew close together in a poor attempt to fight the drafty cool of the approaching winter.

Druella drew the black cloak closer to her shaking body. Abraxas stood next to her, imposing and cold, befitting his status of Lord Malfoy. He opened his mouth to say something to her – most probably to say something unpleasant about the Lord Crabbe standing in front of them – when the door at the back slammed open. There was no mistaking of the overwhelming Dark Aura filling the room. As one, the crowd turned to greet their Lord. Druella's voice stuck in her throat at his sight.

Lord Voldemort was utterly bald.

Gone was the thick black locks. Even his eyebrows seemed to have disappeared. Instead, the green light reflected on the shiny head, not unlike a spoiled Dragon Egg. She heard Abraxas whimpering next to her. She could understand him. She had heard that he had named his first-born 'Lucius', as a solemn tribute to their Lord's _luscious_ locks.

"My Lord?" Orion asked. "Were you attacked?"

Druella internally facepalmed at her cousin-in-law's foolish bravery. Oh well, if this meant that Cygnus became Lord Black and she Lady Black, who was she to object?

"I mean, we would have helped you. We would lay our lives for you, My Lord," Orion amended quickly. ('Damn!' she thought bitterly.)

"No, there was no attack." The sibilant tone filled the room, somehow colder than the chill of the winter.

"But your hair..." Lord Crabbe added, foolishly scratching his head, "Is this the new dress code? Do we need to shave our head too?"

Abraxas' eyes had gone wide as galleons. Druella smirked when he reverently touched his own blond locks.

"No," The Dark Lord's smile was as sinister as his snarl. "I just wanted to protect myself against certain... advances. I heard that some were thinking of using my hair for polyjuice potions."

Druella shifted guility on her feet. She might have been part of the witch circle who wanted to see how their Lord looked in his complete glory. She was sure that he was called the Snake Lord for a reason. But of course, Walburga would have never kept her fat mouth shut.

"I don't understand. You mean," Lord Crabbe added in his usual troll-like tone, "that no one would like to polyjuice you now that you're ugly?"

Druella sighed. She took a few steps back two seconds before the screams started.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: (plot) The reason Voldemort is bald is to prevent anyone from polyjuicing him.

Written for 'School of Prompts' Challenge

Prompt: spoiled

Written for 'Greek Mythology Challenge'

Prompt: Write about Death Eaters


	27. Pain of a Monster

**Pain of a monster**

It had hurt so much. It had felt like an iron-hot poker to her cheek, like she had been branded with his montrosity . She still shook at the ghost of the unending agony. Her shouts still resounded through her nightmares. One week had passed and the pain hadn't lessened. She had learnt to live with it, though. At least, she was learning. The pain was the boogeyman hiding under her bed. She knew it was there, lurking in the shadows of the night. And there was nothing to be done. So she learnt to live with his abominable presence.

Lavender stared at the stark walls of the reception of St Mungo's. Loud shouts and cries filled the room. But the cheer and exuberance of the ending of the war was unmistakeable even here. Her lips thinned. Her eyes hardened. As much as she rejoiced the ending of the war, she knew that these people hadn't paid any price. She had! But no one even cared for asking about her, did they? A hand slipped in hers, warm and caring. She turned and stared at Parvati. Lavender's features softened with a small tug on her lips. Her best friend was the only one who made her smile these days. Parvati understood her bitterness, her cynicism but she also gave her all her warmth and joy.

"Let's go," the Indian girl said in her usual soft tone.

Lavender nodded and followed her. Their steps were lost in the noise of the magical hospital. They beat like two heartbeats lost in the sea of several others. But she could hear them, synchronised and together even after so much had happened.

Before she knew it, they were standing in Healer Smith's office. The walls were as stark and lifeless as the reception's below. The lone bright portrait seemed strangely misplaced in the cold environment. Several magical instruments hovered around the room, some spinning and other still, almost dead.

"Yes, Miss Brown," the Healer said. Lavender felt her heart squeeze in pain. She could hear the pity in his voice. Maybe, she was mistaken... Her hand hovered over the bandaged cheek. The red had long seeped in the white, like an ugly truth that couldn't be hidden. "I'm sorry but we have bad news."

She broke away from Parvati's hand. She took a few steps back. The room seemed to close in on her. She shouldn't remain here...

"You're infected with Lycantrophy."

"NO!" She didn't even realise that she had shouted out loud. She didn't even care. This couldn't be happening. She had hoped- She was a monster. Her back was against the cold wall. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt Parvati's hand on her arm. Lavender pushed her back.

"Go aw- away," her voice broke, "There's nothing that can be done. It's too late. I'm a monster. I'm a monster..."

Her voice ended in a pained whisper. The pain inside her roared fiercer than ever. She had fooled herself. The agony had never lessened. It was here, festering on her life. And it would never leave her. She had been branded by the evil's mark itself...

"Shhh," she sobbed as her friend hugged her, whispered in her ears. "It's going to be all right. You are not a monster, Lav. You hear me? Don't be so quick to judge yourself. We'll find something. We always do, don't we? I read that there are some potions that will allow you to retain your mind when you transform. It will be just like an animagus, only once a month. Maybe I could become an animagus too. It will be a monthly girl's night."

Lav snorted, wiping her tears, while her friend kept on talking. She knew that it wouldn't be as easy as Parvati was saying. Her friend surely knew as much and was just trying to cheer her. But it still warmed her heart.

"And Lav," the brown-haired girl turned and looked at her. "I will always be here for you."

Parvati kissed her gently. It was just a peck but Lavender could feel the warmth tingling on her lips. And for a moment, the pain truly lessened.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 600 words or more of a trip to St Mungo's

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: misplaced

Written for Unusual Ships Challenge

Pairing: Lavender/Parvati

Written for Mega Song Lyrics Challenge

Prompt: 35. Passenger, The Wrong Direction


	28. About Brooms and Blacks

**About Brooms and Blacks**

"Are you sure about this?" McLaggen asked behind him.

Harfang Longbottom rolled his eyes at the trembling boy. How could the Sorting Hat have placed such a snivelling baby in Gryffindor? He pointed his wand to the bronze lock.

_"Alohomora."_

The lock opened with an audible click. Grinning at his success, he pushed the door open. The two boys entered the broom shed and promptly burst into fits of cough. Dust covered the whole surface. Harfang noticed a big rat scurrying to some dark space under one of the closets. But he ignored it as he moved to the rack of brooms propped against the wooden wall. He ran his hand along the wooden handle. The brooms didn't shine like the Silver Arrow he had left home. The bristles were a bit skewed. The balance could have been better. But they weren't too bad for a set of Bronze Arrows.

"Are you really going to fly them?"

"Of course," Harfang scoffed at his housemate's babyish wonder. "They said not to bring a broom. They didn't say anything about not using the school brooms. Besides what better way to end this great first day at Hogwarts. Besides, did I tell you about the time I flew with Andrew Kipper?"

"The Puddlemere United's seeker?"

"Of course," the Longbottom Heir preened, "He said that I was a natural. And that one time, I caught the snitch right under my cousin's nose. And he's Ravenclaw's star seeker!"

"Yes, and then you went splat on the muddy ground."

Harfang's mouth clammed shut at the voice. He turned and saw her standing at the entrance – Callidora Black. Hr black locks were framing her glaring grey eyes. Harfang gulped loudly.

"Oh, hella, Calli. Hmm, what are you doing here?"

"Stopping you from falling to your death, as usual. What would you have done if I didn't come in?"

"Nothing! I was just- just showing McLaggen the brooms. I swear!" He amended quickly. He kicked his housemate in the shins and the latter nodded vigourously. He could see the anger in her eyes. He surely deserved after his last week's antics.

"It better be so." Her voice promised a lot of dark things before she huffed and left. Harfang let a out a sigh of relief, before a small smile broke on his lips. It didn't matter how bad their arguments got, he knew that Callidora would never leave him, no matter how much she hated him.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Competition

Prompts:

Word: space ; word: baby ; Era: Riddle ; Year: 1933 ; Mood: Overjoyed ; Day of the week: Monday ; Animal: Rat ; Adjective: Babyish ; Dialogue: "What would you have done if I didn't come in?" ; Closing Line: It didn't matter how bad their arguments got, [insert name] knew that [insert name] would never leave her, no matter how much she hated her.

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 200 words or more of any subject


	29. The First

**The First**

Tom's scream faded in the domineering silence. The metallic scent filled his senses. He could feel his warm blood sticking on his chest. He grimaced at the pain. His fingers gingerly touched the tender skin only to find... nothing. The pain remained to remind him the truth though. He shakily rose to his feet. His fingers were firmly clenched around the familiar handle of his wand. He forced his body to remain still. His dark eyes peered at the changing surroundings. Lights flashed around him, swirling in a vortex of colours with him in the middle. Indistinguishable faces lurked within. The cacophony of voices sounded like a chorus of insanity. Darkness danced around the edges, like some sinister shadow play.

'Could this be a ploy of Dumbledore? Had he found about the Basilisk?'

Holding his breath, he took a step forward. The whole scene changed. Ornate sculptures of majestic snakes rose around him. The metallic scent of invisible blood faded into the molded ancient smell of the chamber. His plitter-platter of a leaking pipe punctuated the imposing silence. There was no doubt about where he was. No body knew the Chamber of Secrets as well as he did. Tom's grip around his wand tightened. There was a low chance that the Transfiguration Professor knew about this place. He doubted that he could go past his Occlumency shields. His lips thinned at the lack of answers.

'Could it be that something went wrong with the ritual?'

Dread filled his insides. He quietly walked to the statue of his forefather. His steps resounded through the hollow chamber, though they sounded wrong, almost... muffled and soft? With a perplexed frown, he ran his fingers along the statue. He felt not the harsh crude texture of stone he was expecting but instead, a softer and more familiar one... it felt like paper.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 300 words or more of Riddle Era.


	30. Fighting

**Fighting**

Gawain bit his lips as the pain coursed through his whole right arm. But before he could even glance at the bloodied injury or even utter a spell for a temporary healing, the wall behind him exploded.

"Crucio!"

Screams tore out of his throat, raw and animalistic. His hands clawed at the concerete floor. His legs folded under unnatural directions. The pain of a knife slowing skinning him filled his senses. The young auror wished for a reprieve, for it to just stop. He shook. He yelled. He cried. The agony stopped as quickly as it had started. Gawain heaved, staring at the Death Eater. It was a young witch, judging by the slim hand caressing the Hawthorn wand. Black curly locks framed the silver mask.

"Avada Kedavra."

Gawain's eyes opened at the upcoming green light. It was only his auror's skills that allowed to roll away that saved him. He hissed at the pain on his leg when a rubble as heavy as an anvil dropped on him.

"Protego!"

The upcoming cherry blossom pink light richocheted off his shield. Bodies littered around – Death Eaters and Aurors alike. The witch advanced towards him, not unlike a naughty cat playing with a mouse. The lingering smell of decay were tinged with cruelty and fear, reminding strongly of a stubborn Boggart. Gawain's eyes surreptiously roved over the inside of the abandoned fishing factory for a escape route.

"Expulso!"

"Impendimento"

"Genderius"

"Expelliarmus"

The autor's wand blurred in front of him as he defended himself against the onslaught of curses and hexes. He bit his lips in an attempt the pain burning in his arm. The laspe of concentration cost him his defense and he went sailing against the wall. Gawain hissed as the loud crunch. His wand hand refused to move, broken by his side.

"Avada-"

"Stupefy"

The witch crumbled as a loud voice resounded through the walls.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Robards, you better live or else you will on Hogwarts Express tomorrow to be Flich's assistant."

Gawain laughed hysterically, spitting blood when his grizzled mentor came in view. He blacked out before he could give his usual retort.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry School Competition

Colour: Cherry Blossom Pink ; Animal: cat ; Animal: Boggart ; Spell: Avada Kedavra ; Spell: Crucio ; Item: Anvil ; Item: Knife ; Upper Word Limit: 999 ; Date: August 31 ; Setting: Fish Factory

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 200 words or more of any subject

Written for Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge

Prompt: Write about First Wizarding War


	31. Fight and Flight

**Fight and Flight**

"Where were you when it happened?!" she demanded, shouting at the top of her lungs.

"I was right there. I don't understand... One moment he was staring at the sky muttering about decency and flying and then, poof! He transformed," a young man replied.

The voices resounded through the closed damp prison, resulting in an eerie echo. The young falcon pressed itself against the harsh walls. Darkness loomed over it like a suffocating blanket. It wished to be far from this prison, to fly away. It just felt awful. A pain lurched through his whole body as it lifted his white wings. His loud cry silenced the shouting witch.

"Arresto momentum!"

A bright white light hit the youngling. Invisible hands seized it, quelling its painful flight. Its wings refused to move. Its beak couldn't even open to scream. It struggled against the invisble bonds. The fear of being bound only fueled its fight. But nothing happened. His own body remained still, refusing to move.

"Lumos."

A pale yellow light filled the room. The vainly struggling young falcon peered at the approaching humans. It clicked its beak menacingly at the chuckling tormentors. Their rotting smell tugged at its memory. Their rattling breaths whispered of strange colours... a market? A merry merchant's face filled its mind. A father? But these two... they were the one who had captured it- no, him! He wasn't a young falcon, was he? He was Falco, Falco Aesalon. They had kidnapped him.

"Finite Incantatem"

Falco didn't even wait for them to recover as the spell hit him. He launched himself at his surprised imprisoners. They screeched at the aggressive assault of wings. His beak pecked their thin hands. He screeched satisfyingly as their wands tumbled out of their hands to the ground. And before they could stop him, he flew through the tiny window.

Warm fresh air of the approaching summer welcomed him with open arms as his wings glided through the open meadow. A strange song, not unlike his usual warm laughs, burst out of his beak, rejoicing in the freedom. He pirouetted through the blue skies, he dived, he flew! And it was only when the sun had bade him farewell and sunk through the horizon that he touched the ground.

A sudden panic assaulted him. What if he was stuck in this form? The images of his worried parents taunted him. That moment, the fun of the flight no longer felt light and weighed heavy on his heart. Laying in the grass, collapsed in an exhausted heap, he stared up in the sky and wondered why he let this get so out of hand.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Two: Transfiguration/ Charms/ DADA)

Word: Witch ; Era: 500 B.C. ; Mood: Confused ; Colour: Yellow ; Adjective: Surprise ; Adjective: Aggressive ; Dialogue: "I don't understand..." ; Upper Word Limit: 543 ; Lower Word Limit: 333 ; Opening Sentence: "Where were you when it happened?!" she demanded, shouting at the top of her lungs. ; Closing Sentence: Laying in the grass, collapsed in an exhausted heap, I stared up in the sky and wondered why I let this get so out of hand. ; Sentence: I just feel awful ; Word Count: 444

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 200 words or more of any subject

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: Flight, decency, quell


	32. Eyes of Storm

**Eyes of Storm**

Harry shivered at the embrace of the chilly wind. He flinched as the huge waves crashed mercilessly against the unyielding rocks, sprinkling the young boy with droplets of saline water. Anxious, he bit his lower lip, the salty taste of the sea filling his mouth. He had no idea how he had arrived here. He was sure that he had been in his cupboard and Aunt Petunia had told him that he wasn't getting out for two more days. It was like he had appeared here by magic... A horrible sensation bloomed inside him. What if he had appeared here just he did on the rooftop? He gulped at the thought of the punishment waiting for him when he would be back at 4, Privet Drive.

Another wave crashed against the jagged and broken rocks, half drenching the eight-year old boy. Broken out of his musings, Harry looked around him, taking in the huge cliff of pitch-black rocks around him. The sea, wild and restless, swirled under him, moaning in its restless thrashing. And the grey clouds looming over him felt like an ominous blanket, suffocating him with their cold promises.

"You shouldn't be here."

Harry jumped at the sound of the voice behind him. His feet slipped on the slippery rocks. He flailed his arms wildly before a hand reached out and grabbed him. Steadied, the green-eyed boy turned and looked at the newcomer. Thick black locks, sleek and tamed unlike his, danced along the whims of the gust. The thin lips looked almost blood-red against the pale face. But what caught his eyes were the grey eyes – stormy and cold just like the heavy clouds above them.

"Who are you?"

A loud rumble punctuated the end of his sentence. In answer, the boy merely sneered at him before moving past him, their shoulders brushing brusquely. His feet surely navigated the ups and downs of the rocky maze.

"Hey, wait."

Harry ran behind the boy. Unlike the grey-eyed boy, his feet awkwardly threading through the looming coal-black rocks, his hands steadying his stumbling gait. But the monthly practice of dodging his cousin and the gang of bullies had long trained his body for fast reflexes and movements. His quick agility allowed him to catch up to the boy fairly fast. He grabbed the patched shirt, pulling him to a stop.

"What are you doing?" the boy hissed at him, his eyes looking more than ever like the menacing clouds. And as if answering the anger of their fellow breathens, the storm above roared and unleashed its frigid cold assault.

The boy pulled away and hurried his steps. Harry scowled as he followed the boy. The cold water shortly seeped through his thread-bare clothes, chilling him. His chattering teeth rattled inside his mouth. The wind howling through the pitter-patter of the rain sounded like the ominous moans of a dark demon lurking behind the rocks. The groans of the waves against the rocks seemed like the cries of its cursed victims. Harry quickened his pace and shortly, he followed the boy in a cave.

The salty scent of the sea permeated the chill air. The wet walls glistened like ores of silver under the sparse lighting. As Harry wandered deeper in behind the boy, the quieter it became. The angry roars of the storm and the sea faded to a mere whisper. It felt almost magical...

"Who are you?" The boy broke the precious silence, his words echoing through the hollow cave. Harry cracked a smile at the cacophony of voices through the boy remained as cold as ever. The grey eyes strayed to his forehead - no doubt staring at the lightning scar.

"Harry."

"Are you one of the new orphans?"

The green-eyed boy hesitantly nodded, unsure of the boy's question. And at his answer, the cold expression fell away. A small smile tugged at those red lips. His grey eyes glinted. For some reason, Harry felt colder than ever. He pulled Dudley's castoff closer to him, ignoring the chill of the drenched clothes. He watched as the boy rolled the large sleeve, revealing the three-feet long snake.

"Do you need me, Master?" the slim snake hissed. Harry's eyes grew wide.

"We have a wandering orphan who seems to be lost. Maybe, we could practice some of our techniques on him," Tom answered, fondly stroking the snake's lime green scales.

"Yes, it must be easy. He doesn't look very intelligent with that mouth open so wide. He seems to be as foolish as the rats hiding in the grasses,"

"That's not very nice to say!" Harry hotly defended himself, the flush of the embarassment still hot against his neck.

The smile on the boy's face slipped away. His mouth opened in consternation and his eyes grew wide. "Do you understand the snake?"

""Master! He must be another speaker!" the snake hissed, sounding almost ecstatic but her master ignored her babbling.

Harry gulped at the intensity of the stare as the boy stepped closer. But he refused to back away. He stared back at the stranger, his hands clenched in fists by his sides – whether to defend himself or to control his shaking, he didn't know. "Yes."

And the insidious smile came back – as slippery as the rocks outside the cave and as stormy as the roars above them. For a moment, Harry saw himself in that mysterious smile. He wasn't stranger to the masks one wore in front of friends and strangers alike. How else could he survive the Dursley's "normal life", the bullies at school as well as the questions at school? He knew when and how to hide one's true intention. His lips tugged upwards as he saw the boy doing the same. If the latter wanted to play...

"I'm Tom Riddle." The boy offered his hand.

Harry took the hand. Strangely, he wasn't surprised by the coldness of the contact. He was almost expecting it.

"Harry Potter." And he smiled back at the boy, one he had reserved to fool others, may it be bothersome professors, bullying cousins or even engimatic strangers. At the same moment, a bright red lightning flashed through the grey stormy clouds.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 1000 words or more of your OTP through unpredictable weather

Written for Muggle Move Appreciation Challenge

Prompt: Insidious (word), Demon (word/creature)

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: Broken, Heavy, Swirl

Written for Greek Mythology Mega Challenge

Prompt: Write about young Tom Riddle

Written for Unusual Pairing Challenge

Pairing: Harry/Tom


	33. Snorkack

**Snorkack**

Luna cocked her head sideways as she stared at the strange creature. The red and gold plumage flickered as if the feathers were on fire. The beady black eyes looked at her, mirroring her own innocent curiosity. The four-year old wondered what type of creature it was.

'What if it was Crumpled Horned Snorkack?' Her pale blue eyes widened. Her father had always told her stories about the mythical creature and now, here it was! With a large smile, she slowly extended her hand and petted the creature. She never knew that the Crumpled Horned Snorkack was a bird! Maybe if she told her father, he would let her draw a picture of it for the Quibbler!

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: A small child petting Fawkes


	34. Friend in Need

**Friend in Need**

Gawain was about to turn off the light and sleep when there was a knock on his bedroom window. The fifth-year frowned as he saw Ted. At the latter's beckoning, he jumped off the sill and followed him. The two warlocks silently wove through the shadows of the night till they entered the shed behind Ted's house. Gawain's eyes widened at the sight of bubbling cauldron.

"It's the Polyjuice Potion. But I messed it up," the fifth-year Hufflepuff grimaced.

Gawain sighed, ignoring the rising questions. He started going through the different ingredients laid on the table. He was sure that the potion wasn't supposed to such a bright capri.

"I'm worried about Andy," Ted added timidly. "With the war around us and not having seen her for more than two months... I need to meet her."

Gawain nodded solemnly. With the horrors of war surrounding them, it was hard not to be concerned for loved ones. Meanwhile, he methodically minced the wormwood. The consistency and base were done correctly which meant that something went wrong with the last stage, namely the daisy roots or the frog's eyes. The Gryffindor grimaced at the thought of counteracting each possible errors. It could take hours and still not solve the problem.

But ten hours later, at the break of dawn, both boys grinned tiredly at the finished thick mud-like potion.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Two: Potions/ History/ Herbology)

Word: Warlock ; Word: Problem ; Year: 1964 ; Colour: Capri ; Animal: Frog ; Plant: Daisy ; Plant: Wormwood ; Adjective: Finished ; Event: Summer Vacation ; Upper Word Limit: 800 ; Opening Sentence: I was about to turn off the light and sleep when there was a knock…on my bedroom window. ; Word Count: 222

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompts: 200 words or more of any subject


	35. When Nightmares Come True

**When Nightmares Come True**

The thick wild vines wound around her pale ankles. The huge trees loomed around her like bars of a dark prison. The rasping whispers of the dying leaves sounded like the approaching steps of her henchmen. Natalie jumped at the cry of "Incendio" not far off.

_Jimmy!_

Nathalie's grip tightened on the cloak he had left with her. Her nails dug in her skin. Tears started afresh. She needed to move, she needed to save her friend. But she couldn't. Fear froze her. She had seen what those Death Eaters were capable of. Her hand brushed against the deep gash along her side. The screams still resounded in her ears.

_Jimmy's screams..._

She heard a scuffle to her right, from where the yellow light had burst earlier. She bit her lips. The red Gryffindor crest weighed heavy on her chest. She wasn't brave. She wasn't a heroine. Her feet carried her further in the thick Nightshade bush. The sweet scent taunted her, mocking her past idealist dreams, where she chased Dark Wizards like a true Gryffindor. The third-year closed her eyes, wishing that it was all a nightmare, one she would wake up soon.

"Little girls shouldn't be out at night."

Nathalie's eyes flew opened. A scream tore out of her throat at the sight of the horrifying man in front of her.

"Levicorpus"

Before she knew it, she was suspended upside down in the air. Her heart froze when the man came close to her. His yellow teeth tinged with red shone like fangs under the moonlight. His dirty matted hair hung like noose around his neck.

"Aren't you a pretty one?"

"No, please, please don't kill me. Please, I'll do anything." The words tumbled out of her lips. She fought against the invisible bonds of the magic. She ignored the pain rising from the bleeding gash.

"Don't worry," his nefarious smile sent a sinister chill up her spine. "I won't kill you... not yet."

"Expelliarmus."

A red light hit the Death Eater. Nathalie fell to her feet and immediately rushed to the girl who had rescued her. Her hair was as red as the spell with which she had saved her. Soot, caked by traces of tears, covered part of her face. Two boys flanked her sides.

"Thank you, thank you," she half-sobbed as she clutched the girl.

"Shhh, it's going to be fine. Is there any one else?"

"Jimmy," she clutched her hand, staring at her sapphire blue eyes, "You have to save him. He's in the forest. They have hurt him. I don't know if he's..."

The two boys immediately rushed inside while the girl lead her to the grounds.

"Don't worry. Dean and Seamus will save your friend."

Yet her mind wondered if they were too late... The sobs racked through her body.

"It's all right. It's Ok. We're going to get you inside."

"But I want to go _home_," the word came out as a whisper, as if it would break too if she spoke loud, "I don't want to fight anymore."

"I know. It's going to be all right."

'Was it?' She knew her life would never be same after all this. And she would never be the same.

* * *

_The last three dialogues are taken verbatim from HP and Deathly Hallows. It's the scene where Ginny is comforting a little girl and Harry is under the Cloak on his way to Voldemort._

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Six: Transfiguration/ Herbology/ DADA)

Word: Well ; Word: Hurt ; Word: Magic ; Era: Trio ; Colour: Red ; Colour: Sapphire ; Plant: Nightshade ; Spell: Incendio ; Spell: Levicorpus ; Dialogue: "No, please, please don't kill me. Please, I'll do anything." ; Upper Word Limit: 865 ; Sentence: And she would never be the same ; Word Count: 543

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 400 words, a canon battle

Written for Pinterest Prompt Challenge

People Prompt 12, Word Prompt 17


	36. No Fury Like A Mother Scorned

**No Fury Like A Mother Scorned**

He had never seen anything as beautiful as her, when she was covered in the blood of their enemies, and causing havoc in the battlefield. His unfocused eyes stared at the Crimson Goddess, or as others may call the Bloody Monster or even the Wagga Wagga Werewolf... He could feel the corroding agony coursing through her veins. He could hear the furious howl bubbling in her throat. He could taste the metallic tang on her fangs.

_Beware for I'm the cursed mother_

_Yet the blessed monster_

_Don't get too close._

_It's dark inside._

_It's where my demons hide._

_and where my divinity lurks_

_For my childe, I'll die_

_For my childe, I'll kill_

The ominous words faded into the whispers of the nothing, and so did the seer's glimpse of the future. Yet as his blue eyes regained the wisdom he was known for, he couldn't shake off the feeling of an upcoming storm, a crimson storm.

* * *

Faint beams of the daylight punctuated their trail, shining like the benign sign of a faraway lighthouse. Preys and predators alike hurried away from their path as if they understood the urgency of the travellers. The sweet scent of wild fluxweed and alihotsy embraced them, calming their frayed nerves.

Yet none of these worked on Wilhemina. The mother could hear the approaching gallops of her enemies. She could feel their malovelent gazes on her back. They wouldn't be able to carry on like this for much longer. They needed time, her children needed time to escape. Biting her lips, she caressed the tainted dagger fastened on her leather belt. Gathering every ounce of her courage, she stopped and spoke.

"This is where we separate."

Her three children froze, their green eyes wide in shock. But she could see the understanding and grief in her eldest. Adriana was always the wisest one, wasn't she?

"Mother, you can't!" William, the youngest, grabbed her skirt, the tears generous on his pale cheeks.

Wilhemina crouched in front of him. With a small smile, she wiped away the tears. "It will be fine. I'll stop the men while you three escape through the forest. The Wagga Wagga village is just on the other side. Find Master Perston. I have already sent him an owl about your arrival. He will keep you three safe."

"I don't want to be safe! I want to be with you."

"I want to be with you too, Will. But we must do what we should. "Sometimes we have to ignore our gut and do what our hearts telling us to do." "

She watched as Adriana herded her two siblings around her. Marcus was hidden behind her sister's skirt, his eyes teary. "Wi- Will you return?"

A painful pang rang through her heart yet Wilhemina refused to show any of her pain. "I will." The cromulent promise tumbled out before she could stop herself. Looking at the small relief on her son's face, she realised maybe it was worth it.

After a painful farewell, she stood, digging her feet in the groud to not run to them. Her fists were clenched at her sides. She silently watched as her three children walked away. She would probably never see them again. Tears kissed her lips as she looked at Adrina's soft golden locks (just like hers), Marcus' tremulous smile when he would turn every now and then to look at her, William's reluctant gait as if he was on the point to run back to her... Until they were mere specks that disappeared from her sight.

The dark night had long overwhelmed the bright cheery day. The star twinkled in the sky above her head, welcoming their ascending queen – the moon. Crouched under the Elder tree, the young mother carefully undid the ancient dagger from her belt. The ornate ivory handle felt heavy on her pale frail hand. She flinched at the sight of the glistening red on the blade – werewolf blood, preserved on the Goblin-wrought metal. Specks of black battled through the crimson, dark and sinister like the monster it had come from.

Wilhemina stared at the full moon, who remained serene yet so cold in the dark. Would she be forsaken to a life as lonely? Would she be able to live in an ending darkness? Images of her children flashed in a mind. If the alternative was to live as a motherless mother... The thought chilled her through her core. With a resolute glint, she carefully cut through her veins, from her wrist till her elbow.

"Mother Moon," she hissed through the pain. "Curse me or bless me for now I'm your servant. For the lives of my children, I willingly forsake mine to yours."

Agony like she had never felt before filled her senses. Fire burned inside her, consuming all that she was. Her skin bubbled, white fur sprouting all over her body. Her nose lengthened in a snout, her green eyes turned amber, her legs and hands transformed into long limbs. A loud howl tore out of her throat – painful and furious.

A momentary panic filled her at the thought of her cubs. She had lost them! They needed her for they were too young. The maternal animal inside her roused in fiery anger at the thought of her lost children. But then, she recalled about the enemies seeking her, her cubs. She growled at the idea of danger to them. They were more precious than anything. She needed to defend them! The fury filled her as her fangs lengthened at the thought of those threatening her pack. Her ears could hear the approaching gallops, their loud cheers and jeers. A growl rumbled inside her at the thought. She needed to kill them before they could even touch her cubs. With a deep breath, she launched herself upwards in a swift motion.

Her huge paws carried her faster to the ones she sought. The stray leaves and branches snapped against her face, never slowing her down. Her snout picked up the scent of her enemies, unerringly leading her to them. Soon, she was standing in front of a few dozens of people – her enemies. Her loud howl broke through their nocturnal celebrations. She could feel their eyes on her glowing white form, basking in the moonlight. She knew they caught the glint of the light of her fangs.

"It's a werewolf!"

"Run!"

"-and my wand?"

Shrieks and shouts filled the night. Men threw themselves at her brandishing their swords threateningly. She grabbed the nearest one, her fangs sinking in his feeble neck. The metallic taste filled her mouth, glorious in her short victory. But before she could move, a sword pierced her left leg. Her pain filled howl covered the cheers of the men. She grabbed her assailant with her sharp teeth piercing through his tender belly. She shook him like a ragged doll, the blood covering her snout. She felt life leaving her recent victim. But she had no time to bask in the scent of her victory. She turned towards the approaching wave of men. Some carried swords, others wooden sticks.

"Incendio."

"Reducto"

"Stupefy"

The multi-coloured lights came towards her, as quick as a flash of lightening bolts. But they bounced off her white fur, fizzling to nothing. She tore through their ranks, her teeth biting those who came close to her. Legs were torn apart, hands were snatched off their sockets. Some of her victims twitched headless at her feet. They cried, they shouted and some of them even pleaded. But all she heard were the nightly tremors of her children. She recalled holding them, helpless against the nightmares that these men had caused them. The thick warm blood seeping through her fur reminded her Adriana's hot tears. At the sight of a fleeing man, she saw Marcus last longing glance, hopelessly holding on the promise of seeing her again. Staring at the fear-filled eyes of the man at her feet, she saw William huddled in a dark corner, terrified and frozen.

She howled as a dagger embedded itself at her flank, a _silver_ dagger. She could feel her flesh burning under the cursed metal. Part of her, the primitive animal, wanted to flee from the danger and nurse the wound but the maternal side fought for control. She would die if she had to but she wasn't letting these monsters touch her children. Gritting her teeth, she threw herself at the approaching men. She ignored the agony in her right flank. The rush of her enemies' blood momentarily soothed the pain but it wasn't enough, not until each one of them was dead.

The carnage carried well through the night. The men fought with all they had - swords, staffs, daggers and wands. But she didn't relent. Even when a second silver knife struck her front paw, she tore through the men. The moon watched silently as the crimson river flew around the wrecked camp. Human parts were spread through the ground like a grotesque painting. The female werewolf limped to the trees, the intestines of the last man wound around her paw. Pain filled her body. She could still feel the silver slowly corroding her flesh. But it would soon be over. The night was slowly fading to welcome the day. As she tumbled to the ground, her last thoughts were that of her cubs.

* * *

He finished bandaging the soft pale hand, the soft odour of crushed bezoar filling the room. The wound would scar but he was sure that she would recover from the effect. He gently checked the healing paste covering the scratches on her collarbone. Adjusting himself to get comfortable, he sighed and waited. As bloody as the night was, he knew that the tale of the Crimson Goddess had just started.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Three: Herbology/ COMC/ Divination)

Word: Bloody ; Mood: Courageous ; Emotion: Love ; Colour: Ivory ; Plant: Fluxweed ; Plant: Alihotsy ; Plant: Bezoar ; Spell: Reducto ; Spell: Stupefy ; Dialogue: "Sometimes we have to ignore our gut and do what our hearts telling us to do." ; Upper Word Limit: 2000 ; Lower Word Limit: 1243 ; Opening Sentence: He had never seen anything as beautiful as her, when she was covered in the blood of their enemies, and causing havoc in the battlefield. ; Sentence: With a deep breath, he launched himself upwards in a swift motion. ; Sentence: Adjusting himself to get comfortable, he sighed and waited.

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: 1300 words, action genre

Written for Greek Mega Mythology Challenge

Prompt: Write about Lycantrophy

Written for Pinterest Prompt Challenge

Item prompt: 6; People prompt: 7; Phrase prompt 5; Place prompt 11; Word prompt 1


	37. A Mother's Love

**A Mother's Love**

"_No! Mother, no!"_

_The pleading words pierced her heart. She buried her face in her husband's arms. She could feel him stiffening under her touch but she wasn't strong like him. She couldn't bear to stoically face her son's tearful cries and his anguished face. _

"_I am your son! I am your son!"_

_'He's your son!' the mother inside her cried in anguish. The sobs she desperately held inside her escaped. She heard Bartemius hiss in discomfort as her grip on his arm tightened. But she paid no heed to him. She dug her nails in his crisp onyx robes in a desperate attempt to hold herself and to not run to her son. _

"_You are no son of mine!"_

The woman gasped as she broke away from the clutches of the familiar nightmare. Huddled in a dark corner, she quietly pressed her knees against her chest to hold on the precious little warmth she could. Her chattering teeth rattled inside her sound, the sound eerily sounding like the rasping laughter of the dementors. The pain in her bones had returned fiercer than ever. It felt like someone had broken each of her bones and was slowly welding each one to another. She pressed her aching back against the stone wall; its icy chill seeped through the threadbare robe and heartlessly bit her pale skin. But she didn't complain, not if it helped numb the never-ending pain...

She shivered as the familiar chill approached her cell. It was different from the icy cold of the winter. It was oppressive as if one was being crushed under a giant, it was hopeless like the last burning breath of a drowning man, it was apathetic like the heart of a terrible monster. Mists clouded her vision. Her lungs burned under the assault of the dark chill. The hooded creature glided to the front of the cell. A scabbed hand pushed a plate-

"_Please, Barty, for my sake!" she desperately clutched his hand, as if it was her last lifeline. _

"_He tortured Auror Longbottom and his wife into insanity!" Bartemius Sr. hissed quietly before going back to the file. _

"_He didn't do it. He was just with the wrong crowd at the wrong moment."_

"_We went through this, here and at the trial. He has committed a crime and he has to pay for it."_

"_Please, Barty, if you ever had any love for me, please listen to me." She had fallen to her knees, true to her begging. The tears splashed against his wrist still held in her hands. For a moment, his features softened and she saw her own anguish in his wrinkled face. After, he had a lost a child too. But it was only for a moment._

"_No!" With the cruelty matching his brusque tone, he wrenched his hand and walked away._

Her eyes fluttered open. The fear's grip on her heart remained tight. Her laboured breaths came as mists, swirling and bodiless like the her foggy depressing memories. The dementor was gone but its icy cold still lingered in the air. With a deep breath, she crawled to the plate in front of her. Her legs burned as if on fire. Her spine felt as it would never straighten again. But she had long learnt to live with the pain. She slowly ate the burnt bread with the moldy cheese. Each morsel felt cold and dry, scratching her irritated throat. She didn't touch the bowl of water, not right away.

"Hey little Bartikins, still missing your mommy?"

She paused in her meal. She lifted her head and looked at the woman staring at her from the cell in front of hers. Lank dull hair, which was probably once shiny and luscious, hung lifeless over her gaunt face. Her heavy-lidded eyes shone with an inherent madness.

"Don't worry. Our Lord will come and free us. We will reign over the pests that brought us here. And if- if this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together. We will burn the world!"

A loud cackle punctuated the end of her crazy ramblings but the laughter faded to nothing as a dementor drifted to their cells. She shivered, the cold drawing once again the worse of her memories. The morsel of bread felt from her hand. She tried to crawl back to her corner...

_Their loud steps resounded through the large fortress and they passed through the cells. Two dementors walked ahead of them while a number of them lurked behind like a conspiracy of ravens. Her husband's fox patronus ran around them, warding off the dark creatures' chill._

_Bartemius Sr.'s hand held her frail body. She glanced at him; his face remained as stoic and cold as ever. Though, she could see the concern in that thinning of his lips and the tightening of the wrinkles near his eyes - concern for her. A small sad smile graced her dry lips. She softly squeezed his hand. He didn't react though she could see a minute softening in his chilly blue eyes. _

_The tiny joy vanished at the sight of her son. His once pale pink cheeks had become gaunt and ghostly white. His unfocused eyes stared ahead, unable to recognise even his parents! With a cry, she launched herself at him. She cradled his cold face between her weak hands. _

"_Please, please, Barty, look at me."_

"_Mother?"_

A sharp gasp left her lips as she woke inside her cell. The fear of her lost son still lingered on her lips. A fear that would have became read if she hadn't intervened. Goosebumps broke through her pale skin. She drew the grey robe around her. Wetting her lips, she dragged the bowl of water closer. With baited breath, she glanced at her reflection. A face stared back – so familiar yet not hers. She gazed at the pale blue eyes, which she had read to sleep for so many years. She recalled seeing a tumbling toddler with the same sleek blond hair. Lost in the moment, her hands caressed the image only to disturb the reflection. But the brief glimpse of her son was enough to calm the anguished mother inside her. She would brave every horror if it meant none for her son. A rare smile reflected back on the bowl of water. And for a moment, the fearsome chill couldn't touch her.

* * *

_Small Note: Part of the first flashback was taken from HP and Goblet of Fire_

* * *

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Five: Transfiguration/ DADA/ Arithmancy)

Word: And ; Mood: Hostile ; Emotion: Fear ; Colour: Onyx ; Colour: Pink ; Food: Cheese ; Animal: Raven ; Adjective: Shiny ; Upper Word Limit: 2497 Lower Word Limit: 1009

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 1000 words, the setting must be someplace cold AND the main character must be female

Written for Greek Mega Mythology Challenge

Prompt: Write about a protective mother.

Written for School of Prompts:

Prompts: numbers, giant, laughter (700 words or more)

Written for Pinterest Prompt Challenge

People prompt 4; phrase prompt 7


	38. Act Five, Scene Thirty-Eight

**The Boy-Who-Lived: A Musical**

**Act Five, Scene Thirty-Eight**

Harry stood still fully aware of the stares of the thousands in front of him. The stifling heat of the spotlight suffocated him. His heavy breathing resounded through his ears. A lone sweat detached from his brow and threw itself to the wooden stage. At the same time, a soft music reverberated through the hall. The melancholic notes of the piano tugged on his heart's string. It narrated a story of loss, of the Boy-Who-Lived's unfathomable grief for having just lost his Godfather. Harry closed his eyes, losing himself in the tragic music. The grief embraced him and consumed him till he wasn't even aware of himself. For a moment, he heard his own sobs at his parents' funeral in those mournful notes. He heard his parents' last screams. His limbs shook as the memories of past resurfaced...

_The five-year old wiped his tears as he stared as the freshly buried graves. The single white rose was still clenched in his left hand, its thorns piercing his tender skin. Yet he refused to relinquish it. Placing it on the grave would be admitting that James and Lily Potter were truly gone and that Harry Potter was an orphan..._

Standing on the tip of his toes, Harry arched his back almost inhumanely, the physical pain testifying the agony rising inside him. Accompanying the plaintive notes of the music, his friends rose besides him, their soft spins a sharp contrast against his jerky turns. Hermione's sympathetic smile tried to calm him, Ron's strong support tried to balance him. Neville's unwavering presence, Ginny's soft touch and Luna's strange understanding surrounded him. They tried to ground him, to appease him. But Harry only felt trampled under their well-meaning attention. He broke away from their presence for they would never understand the horrors he had seen.

_"Lily, go! Take Harry and jump!" his father shouted over the protests as he frantically tried to control the car. He was still pressing on the failed brakes._

_Harry yelled as his mother grabbed him. A gust of cold air assaulted them as they jumped. The curtain of red hair shielded Harry's view of the car exploding ahead. The warm hands surrounding him protected him from the jagged rocks that instead took his mother's life._

The beat of the music increased, reflecting his own rising heart beat. He jumped, he spun, he swiveled. He tore at the unjust world for having snatched his parents; he cried at his friends and enemies alike for never understanding what it was like to live under the painful guilt. The mounting crescendo only fuelled his rousing fury. The loud beats of drums reminded him of his father's lungful laughter. The soft brittle notes of the violin sounded like his mother's soft grace. The crimson and gold streaks on his face glinted like blood and tears under the spotlight. His mane of black hair whipped around him as he spun, vicious and animal-like. He didn't even mind the bloodied toe on which he stood for the pain couldn't rival the one he was drowning in. He was no longer Harry Potter, he was never the Boy-Who-Lived. He was the orphan who had been bereft of a parent's love for too long. As the crescendo reached its pinnacle, he tore open his robe, revealing the crimson and golden pelt beneath.

The music died a soft plaintive end and he stood bare-chested, facing the crowd. His teeth were bared, his hands clawed. His eyes shone under the intense fury and agony. For a moment, a moment of silent reigned in the Hall, during which Harry could hear his own laboured breaths. Then, it was like a dam broke. The thunderous applause assaulted his ears. The flashes of hundreds of cameras blinded him. The moment the velvety violet curtain dropped, Harry swayed on his feet and fell unconscious.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 600 words, Movie Star!AU, Singer!AU, Actor!AU or anything of that sort

Written for Greek Mythology Battle

Prompt: Write something completely AU

Written for School of Prompts

Prompt: violet


	39. Unforgivable Loves

**Unforgivable Loves**

My first love came in like a whirlwind of loud cackles and youthful madness. Before I could even blink, she had me against the wall with her hands firmly buried in my locks and her curves intimately pressed against me. My body still shivers at the first memory of that passionate fire coursing through my veins. The ghost of that first bruising kiss still lingers on my lips. She was the wild taste of Firewhisky in Slytherin's common room, the breezy chill of the dungeons and the reverberating echoes of raucous laughs. Loving her was arched backs against the emerald green rugs, fingers dug into the pitch-black sheets and those loud wanton screams resounding the whole night.

My first love was crystal vases crashing against the walls, heavy sobs on the unforgiving cold floor and over-the-top fights and shouts at night. Loving her was the pain of a thousand knives skinning me alive, the hoarse throat after hours of crying and those unending days spent comatose in my bed. I cursed her. I screamed at her. I writhed in agony. It was pain like I never felt before.

My first was torture.

* * *

My second love was the cold-eyed aristocrat of Wizarding Nobility. He was already betrothed to another. I didn't care; he didn't let me. It started with lingering handshakes that left me blushing. For weeks, his gaze surreptitiously followed me, lavishing in its attention. When he finally kissed me, I didn't resist. I didn't have the will to. He was hidden caresses under the Minister's oak table and soft whispers in my enclosed cubicle. Generous in his precious guidance and instructions, he was the kind-hearted mentor that lead me through the wild waters of Politics. Loving him was forgetting myself in the throes of passion, that overwhelming presence of his inside me and the insatiable need to be his.

My second love was hissed warnings about secrecy in my ears, that visceral tight grip on my wrist and those stifling orders about how to sit, how to speak, how to walk... how to live. Loving him was seeing a stranger in the mirror, getting torn apart amidst the games of manipulation and the fleeting immoral euphoria mixed with whispers of self-depreciation. I did everything to break away. I hid. I fled. I even begged. But a whisper of his was enough to undo all my defences. And I crawled back again, and again, and again, and always.

My second was control.

* * *

My third, and last, love was the greatest and most fearsome of them all. I never knew when Cupid's green arrow struck my heart. Was it when his red eyes held mine for the briefest of seconds? Or was it when he uttered my name in his sibilant voice for the first time? It didn't matter; it was too late. With him, it was about a dream bigger than life, bigger than my life. He was the terrible spectre that ended legions of armies on our path. He was that overwhelming presence that I couldn't help but fade into. And when he, the Dark God, chose me, a mere mortal, it was a story that only fables spoke of. I forgot how to breathe when he touched me, my heart stopped when he kissed me, and when he took me, I slipped into a blissful oblivion...

My third love was the powerful Lord, apathetic to my pleas or tears. He was the wicked God who cruelly played with the strings of my life. He was the green deadly snake that struck at the speed of lightning. Loving him was being forsaken to unending darkness and being cloaked in the suffocating black for eternity. I didn't even have the time to turn away. My first might have battered my body. My second might have ensnared my mind. But my third snatched the most important of them - my soul.

My third was death.

* * *

_End Note: The names of the characters have been intentionally left out. I wanted the story to be about love in itself (especially its dark side and its parallel to each Unforgivable) and not about the person loved. But enough hints have been left though, and for those who are curious, each snippet is in fact about a canon character closely linked to the respective Unforgivable. As for the narrator, although he is very loosely based on a canon character, no defining characteristics have been set or hinted at. You may consider him as an OC for I wanted the reader to place himself/herself as the narrator. Thanks for reading._

* * *

Written for Second Competition That Must Not Be Named

Prompt: You cannot mention the names of any of the characters in your story, except in the final sentence.

Written for Bi The Way Challenge

Prompt: Write about a Bi or Pan character

Written for Greek Mythology Mega Challenge

Prompt: Write a Tragic Story

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 600 words of any subject

Written for Mega Song Lyrics Challenge

Prompt: "Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?" - The Buzzcocks, Ever Fallen In Love


	40. Seven Proposals

**Seven Proposals**

**(Six failed and one perfect)**

_1st January_

"Harry proposed to me!"

The Burrow burst in a frenzy of joys and congratulations as Harry and Ginny made their way through the crowd. Fleur, Angelina and the rest of the women were 'oh-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over the fist-sized diamond on her sister's ring. The men were clapping Harry on his back like he was a warrior back from the battlefield (and Ron could completely understand the sentiment). The story about the proposal was being retold over and over as flutes were being passed over.

"Congratulations, mate," Ron grinned as he hugged his best friend, and soon to be brother in law. He was truly happy for him.

"Thanks. But did you not-" Harry stealthily glanced at Hermione who was tearfully hugging Ginny and whispering something in her ears.

The red-haired man grimaced. Okay, he was happy for his friend but he wasn't completely happy. Merlin, he was starting to sound like Hermione. "I- I- I'll tell you later."

Harry nodded understandingly. And indeed, after the family dinner, the black-haired man joined him in the porch with two tumblers of Firewhisky.

"Thanks, mate," Ron smiled taking one of them. It was true that he was a bit tipsy but after that disastrous dinner, he didn't mind a few glasses of Firewhisky.

"So what happened? She didn't refuse, did she?"

"What? No! I- I just couldn't do it. I was there at the restaurant. Everything was just perfect and the ring was in my pocket. And then, she looked at him and I simply froze. I couldn't say anything. I tell you it was far easier to pull out that Gryffindor Sword. Godric should give it to every man who proposed. Bloody scary!"

Okay, he was more than a bit tipsy. So what if he was swaying a bit? Harry was nodding solemnly by his side, his face suitable for someone on his deathbed.

"Merlin, I couldn't even- You think I'll end up like an old man, bitter from his cowardice. Oh- Harry what if I end up like Filch?"

The horror crept up in his throat when he imagined himself walking down the dark corridors of Hogwarts with a Crookshank-like cat. And he didn't even like cats!

"Ron, listen to me. You won't end up at him." His friend's words appeased the panic welling inside , he was right. He was going to do this. He was going to propose to Hermione, marry her and live with lots of children and dogs. And no cats.

* * *

_24th Febuary._

And so that's how Ron found himself with Hermione back at a very posh restaurant. It had taken five weeks just to get a reservation! But it was perfect. The woman of his dreams was sitting in front of him. She was truly beautiful, wasn't she? Ron smiled as he looked at her deep brown eyes.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"I- umm, will- yes, I mean-"

"Are you okay?"

"No, I mean, yes. Umm, I need to go to the bathroom!" The words rushed out of his lips and he ran out of his seat as fast he could. He didn't even turn to see the confused look on his girlfriend's face.

* * *

_8th March_

"Okay, the dinner setting isn't working for you. Maybe take her to another place? Take her somewhere special for her."

Harry's advice resounded in his ears. The black-haired man might have been as clueless as him about girls but he managed to asked Ginny words so Ron took his words as golden. So he brought Hermione to Hogwarts. It have been where they became friends and where they kissed for the first time. They lived their life in this castle and it would always be special for them. But for Hermione, he knew that the Library had always been the most special, almost scared. Ron bit his lips as he looked at the towering shelves of books. Hermione was walking by his side with a huge smile on her face as she looked over the multitudes of books.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Hermione, will you-"

"QUIET!" Ron winced as Madam Pince's shout washed over him. "No talking in the library!"

"S-Sorry, Madam." Ron stammered as he looked at the severe lady. No to the library then.

* * *

_26th May_

"Why don't you take her to a Muggle place? She always said that you don't accompany to Muggle side enough, doesn't she?" Harry said.

Heeding his best friend's advice, Ron brought Hermione to a park-like place. Huge metal stuffs ran around him. People laughed and shouted around him. He beamed when his girlfriend grabbed his hand and strolled along the gardens. It was great. And Hermione definitely looked happy. Though his smile shook as she dragged him to one of those rollocusters? Rollingcoasters?

"Hermione," he started as the seat started to move (hey, maybe it's like Quidditch!), "will, I mean, will yo- BLOODY HELL, WE ARE GOING TO DIE!"

Okay, maybe, it wasn't like Quidditch. Not at all.

* * *

_19th August_

"It was so cute! I just- I couldn't say no," the girl gushed on the table next to him though Ron's ears perked when her friend asked the question,

"So, how did he propose?"

"It was the sweetest thing. He tied a ring around Mr. Whiskerson, you know my cat along with a note that said 'Will you marry me?'. It was like-"

At that point the girl burst in tears (happy ones, Ron presumed) while her friends teared (sad ones, Ron presumed).

So that was how Ron found himself chased Crookshanks all around Hermione's appartment. The little hellion was hissing and darting through his legs. The few times he managed to grab the bastard, the cat scratched the hell out of his arms and jumped away.

"Come here, you hissy twat!" Ron grumbled and he finally got a good hold on the ginger cat. He snaked a rope around the fat neck and was doing his best to fasten it. The beast was suddenly mewling pitiful as if he was about to die.

And that was when Hermione entered the room.

"I swear it's not what it looks it."

Hermione refused to talk to him for two weeks.

* * *

_13th October_

This was the perfect moment. His entire family was here and so was Hermione's parents. Their friends were around. The atmosphere was as romantic as it could be. He was dressed impeccably. And the few drinks he had sure helped.

With a huge smile, he knelt down in front of the beautiful Hermione who suddenly look thunderstruck.

"Hermione," he started and at the corner of his eyes he saw that Ginny, dressed in white as the bride, was glaring at him as if she was on the point of hexing him to hell. Standing by her side, Harry was grimacing and violently shaking his head.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice brought his attention back to her.

"Oh, I was- umm, I was just tying my shoe laces. But they weren't undone. Funny, isn't it?" he laughed nervously as he got to his feet. Then, he dashed to the bar.

* * *

_8th November_

Ron smiled as Hermione slid in the seat next to his. It was a ritual of theirs whenever he came over for breakfast at her appartment. Instead of the full English breakfast, they had pancakes and coffee. It was his favourite part of the day. His mind wandered over his next plans for asking her to marry him. So far all had failed. Maybe if he took her to France. Or even Italy-

"What are you thinking about?"

"How to ask you to marry me," Ron answered automatically. It took him a moment to realise what he had said. A few minutes of silence reigned where he refused to look at her.

"Ron?"

He smiled shakily as he looked at her surprised brown eyes. "So, umm, will you marry me? Please?"

His heart beat as if it would never stop. His legs were shaking under the table. Several scenarios popped in his mind and in each one she categorically refused.

"Yes."

And then, she kissed him. It was the as passionate and spontaneous as their first kiss.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, "I wanted it to be perfect and I – just..."

"It was. It was completely perfect." Hermione smiled before kissing him again.

She was right. It was perfect.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 1200 words, a fluffy, romantic fic about your NoTP


	41. Like a Rainbow

**Like a Rainbow**

Harry smiled as he looked at a laughing Luna. The water bubbles left her wand and surrounded them, like floating stars. He watched as she gently cradled a single bubble on her palm. A soft giggle left her lips.

"It holds a rainbow," she said. Indeed, Harry could see a sheen of different colours on the gossamer-like wall of the bubble.

"Really?" he laughed. Her innocence lightened the darkness of the war he had been carrying around with him. Around her, he felt so light, so... happy.

"Of course. And it looks just you."

"Like me?"

"Yes. Here's the red, red for your Gryffindor courage and bravery. Orange for the hope and determination you spread around you, just like the dawn of a new day. Yellow for the loyalty for your friend you so fiercely treasure. Green for your eyes, eyes which shine with so much love. Blue for the intellect that has only sharpened through the years. Indigo for the your sense of justice and fairness that no one can even doubt about. And finally a shade of violet high ideals which you never compromise for, no matter the situation."

Harry's mouth ran dry as she spoke in her usual matter-of-fact manner. Before he could speak, a pair of lips claimed his. It was soft, calming and simply beautiful – like a rainbow.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 200 words of any subject

Written for Unusual Pairing

Prompt: Harry/Luna


	42. Treasured Beads

**Treasured Beads**

Molly smiled, basking in the pleasant warmth as Arthur draped an arm around her. The bliss of Christmas morning could be felt in the air. The soft joyful whispers and the gaggle of laughter filled the Burrow. The papers strewn around, the heaps of gifts at the feet of each member and the sweet scent of tea only added to the usual chaos that was her home. She unconsciously touched the beads around her neck.

_"Mum, mum," Fred, with George at his heels, ran towards Molly. The usual mischievous grin was replaced by an exuberant innocent smile. "We got something for you."_

_Beaming at their excited faces, Molly took the carefully wrapped gift. "I hope it's not one of your pranks. Otherwise, young men, you will be spending Christmas in your room."_

_"No, mum, it's a gift. We made it," George hastily said._

_"For you," Fred added._

_Molly's heart squeezed in joy as she stared at the beautiful necklace. Beads of every colour were strung together and shone like crystals._

_"Dad brought us these beads from a Muggle store!"_

_"It's beautiful. It's a treasure I'll always keep close to me," she said, kissing both her boys on the cheeks._

Molly stared at her children, their spouses, her grandchildren ('and maybe in a few years, great-grandchildren too,' she happily thought, spying a giggling Victoire standing the arms of a grinning Teddy). Like the beads she always wore around her neck, they were here with her - each one different and yet each one precious in it's one way. And like the string that held them together, she would forever hold them as one and treasure them. Just like she had promised Fred years ago.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 200 words of any subject


	43. Horrors of Love

**Horrors of Love**

_T. R. loves M. R._

His thumb reverently traced the uneven ridges of the scratched 'M', the abrasive touch of the bark harsh against his calloused finger. He didn't care about the sharp pain of splinters lodged in his hand. He didn't mind the drops of blood running along his palm. A soft smile lit his face while his glazed eyes roved over the rough carving.

A loud cry broke his trance. Tom Sr. jumped from his seat. He slammed the door open, bounding to the kitchen. He bumped against the dirty walls; he disturbed the frail shelves. He barely hissed in pain when an old vase came crashing down on his shoulder.

"What happened?" Tom Sr. asked, rushing to his wife's side. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Merope cradled her right hand in her left one. "I broke a nail. It's nothing."

'She's hurt.' The words ran through his head like an ominous knell. A visceral agony gripped his heart in a snake-like grip, drowning the rest of her words in his pain-filled whimper. He had told her to be careful. He had told her that she was too delicate. He had told her! The venom of anger slowly trickled along with the pain - anger at her carelessness, anger at her daydreams, anger at her indifference for his love. How could she have let this happen? Did she not know how important she was to him? His hands clenched in tight fists at his sides. His lips twisted in an ugly snarl.

"Tom, it's just a nail. I'm fine." Merope took a step back, her body shaking in fear while she tried to appease his rising anger. But her words only roused the fury slithering through his veins.

"No, you aren't!" he roared, his tall frame looming over her small self. He gritted his teeth at the sight of her pallid face, her pathetic sobs and her sniveling cowardice. He hated how she had imprisoned him with her love. He hated her-

"No, no, no," he whimpered at the assault of the traitorous whispers. He grabbed his head, furiously pulling his hair. He swayed on his feet, torn between the different voices. He didn't hate her. It was Merope, the love of his life.

'Is she? She's the witch who has ensnared you.'

'She was the one who supported you even when your parents shunned you.'

'She's wicked and evil.'

'How can you not see her beauty and kindness?'

'You hate her.'

'You love her.'

"ARGH!" his inhuman scream pierced through the tormenting voices as he fell to his knees. He scratched his face in his demented frustration but the pain did little to soothe the haunting torment.

"Shh, Tom. I know you love me." Merope bravely embraced his convulsing body.

He clutched her feeble figure like a last lifeline. His lips hurriedly claimed hers. His teeth scraped off her skin. His nails dug in her shoulders.

"I love you. Yes, I love you," he dazedly added in between kisses, more to himself than to her.

"I know you do. You need to leave for work, don't you?"

Tom Sr. blinked, shaking off the haze of the last few minutes. "Yes... yes, I need to go. But are you sure you're going to be fine?"

"Yes, I just need to complete the dishes and-"

"No!" Tom Sr. grabbed her protectively, his eyes wide in fear. "No, you're hurt. You aren't doing the dishes."

"There are only a few left. If I don't do it, who will?"

"I'll do it. Or Tom?"

"He's only six-" Merope tried to interrupt him but Tom Sr. was already shouting for his son.

"TOM!"

A wraith-like boy, clad in heavily patched clothes, appeared at the door frame. Tom Sr.'s lips twisted in an ugly grimace as he stared at the boy.

"Do the dishes," he said through gritted teeth.

His narrowed eyes followed his son's subdued form. He saw his own lank and thinning hair in those curly dark locks. The elegant stance mocked his own awkward and spastic movements. His son was the mirror showing his glorious past and his ugly present. His son was the traitorous voices whispering to him how undeserving he was of his wife.

And worse, he had seen the love his wife had for the brat. Every night she would stand in front of his door to make sure he was sleeping well. She would always leave a larger piece of the meal for him so that that brat would never go hungry. Before Tom Jr. came, Merope had been his and his only. Now, Tom Sr. had to share her with the boy. He wished to wring that small neck, to shout how much he hated him. He didn't. He knew that she wouldn't like such thoughts so he never spoke them out loud.

But Merope knew. She had seen the crazed hatred in those eyes when they looked at Tom Jr.. She quickly rose from the floor and followed her husband to the room. She didn't dare linger behind to help her son or even exchange a few words. If he caught her talking or spending more time with Tom Jr., his love for her might not be enough to stop him in time.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay? I can stay at home."

"I'm fine. Don't worry"

Merope beamed at her husband, who nodded vigorously before leaving. The smile slipped away when she heard the sound of the key locking her inside. She didn't yell, she didn't plead, she didn't cry. After the first few times, she learnt that it would only worsen her husband's fury. She had seen how possessive he was of her and ironically, of her safety. She subconsciously touched the scars and fading bruises covering her left arm. But it was the price to pay for her sins.

She mechanically opened the closet standing in the dark corner. She retrieved the blackened cauldron along with the different vials. Her fingers clenched the sharp knife tightly in her fist as she stared at the ingredients she had laid on the table. The potion had once bestowed her with love, a gift that the same potion had slowly poisoned to an empty husk. She envied the life of those mudbloods that her lunatic father had always belittled. She wished she had never heard of the word 'Amortentia' or even 'magic'. She wished she could leave all this behind. But she couldn't. She had imprisoned her husband so tight in the prison that if freed after so many years, he would either kill himself in madness or murder her and her son in obsessive revenge.

Her fingers deftly chopped the rose thorns while her eyes oversaw the blue flame under the cauldron. She quietly bore the sting of scraped skin and bruised lips. Whispers of past regrets accompanied the soft incantations. If only she had had the strength to stop brewing the Amortentia potion early on. She almost had when she had been pregnant with Tom Jr.. If she had, maybe Tom Sr. would have stayed, at least for his son's sake. Her son would have known a real father's love. They would have been a real family, instead of this farce of a home. The bitter taste of regret was harsher to bear than the pain coursing through her face.

Her knife stopped when she heard a loud crash outside.

'Tom!' Her mind screamed at her, worried for her son's safety. He was too young to be doing dishes. But after a few seconds of panic, she continued cutting the ingredients. She wouldn't be able to open the door. She wouldn't be able to calm her son who was probably in pain. She wouldn't be able to embrace him and soothe his worries away. Teardrops splashed against the silver blade. And those few broke free the grief she had bottled inside her for so long. The knife fell away from her grasp as silent sobs racked through her body. She slid to the ground, weak and feeble as she had always been, whether it was against her father, her brother or now, her husband. She cried not for herself because she deserved every minute of pain and humiliation. She cried for her son because she had given him a life as broken and cursed as hers had always been.

While the sound of Merope's sobs filled the derelict room, her son's laughter resounded through the clearing outside. Tom Jr. giggled at the tickling sensation as a small snake licked the bloody gash on his palm. He was used to the scaly reptiles slithering around him since he was a toddler. Unlike his parents, they talked to him, told him stories about magic and other parselmouths. In fact, their reverent hisses always left the 'young but esteemed speaker' feeling special.

"And what about my mother?" He continued after the fit of giggles had subsided. The silky whispers of parseltongue easily slid off his tongue.

"She smelt like a trickle of magic."

Tom Jr. nodded. He had assumed as much. If his mother was truly powerful, wouldn't she have been able to better control her husband? The snakes had told him all about the sweet-smelling potion that his mother used to ensnare his father. They said that the wizards and witches used it to make their prey fall in love with them.

"And me?"

"You?" The snake raised its head, looking at him in his eyes. "Nagashesh said that you smelt like a monsoon of magic. She said that one day, you will have as much magic as the Great One. You will not only talk to us but also command us."

His brown eyes widened in childlike wonder. He had heard about the mighty Salazar Slytherin, who the snakes also called the Great One. A deep sense of pride swelled inside him, along with a fair amount of excitement and curiosity. Could he really be as great as his ancestor? Would he be the one to bring back the Golden Age of magic? Could he really command the snakes? He crouched closer to the snake. He stared at its glinting scales as it slithered along the grass. He reveled in the desire to be as great as his forefather, the need to be in command.

"I command you to come here." He felt a soft tingle in his body as the words left his lips. It felt... magical.

He laughed as the snake slithered to his hand. It was so easy. Maybe the snake was being stupid.

"I command you to form a crown on my head."

He giggled as the scales tickled against his soft skin. He pressed his hands to his mouth to silence the laughter when the snake slithered inside his big shirt. A pleased grin filled his lips at the snake resting on his head. He wondered if Salazar Slytherin had a crown of snakes too. He would have one when he ruled the world.

He wondered what else he could make the snake do. So he tried everything. The small snake brought a dead rat for him, plucked a flower from the other side of the yard and even sang for him. But Tom Jr. felt a small amount of frustration inside him. He knew that Salazar Slytherin didn't have snakes bringing flowers. It sounded like the silly things that his mother made his father do. He scowled at the thought of being as weak as her. He needed to do something different, something powerful, something great.

"Youngling," he wet his lips, staring at the beetle-like eyes, "I command you to die."

The snake froze. Gibberish hisses filled the clearing, sounding not unlike screams. Tom Jr. never looked away. He watched as the snake swayed, reminding him of his father when he screamed at his mother. He could see the same fight in these small eyes. For a moment, he saw his father in front of him, tight under his control. He felt those hatred-filled stares, wishing that he was never born. He felt the painful slaps that he never deserved. Tom Jr.'s small fists dug in the ground. His dark eyes hardened, losing all traces of past laughter. His body tensed, as if on the point of a fight.

"Die!" the harsh sound left his lips like an abominable curse.

The young snake went rigid and fell, lifeless. A brief sting of grief flashed through Tom Jr.'s eyes before it drowned in overwhelming pride and self-satisfaction. No, he wasn't weak like his mother. When his time came, no one was going to hurt or belittle him. Everyone would follow his command. He would be great. After all, he was the monsoon of magic.

The soft sound of giggles resounded again through the clearing.

* * *

Written for 2nd Blindfolded Competition Final Round

Prompts:

The 'inconvenience' of a magical aspect, whether it's a potion, spell, artifact (Amortentia was chosen)

"I broke a nail" was chosen from a list of dialogue prompts

Mandatory: Omniscient 3rd person POV

Mandatory: Three characters with at least one of opposite sex.


	44. Loving him, Losing him

**Loving him, Losing him**

Percy stood at the window, staring at the fading night. He hadn't slept a wink through the whole night. His body was slumped against the wall and his aching muscles screamed for rest. Yet, his gaze never wavered from the horizon. He patiently waited for the owl that _he_ had said he would send after the Third Task. The worry churned inside his stomach.

Staring at the smears of blood red at the horizon, he whispered, "Please be okay, Ced."

* * *

"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do-"

Percy tried to fight the smile creeping up his face as the blond-haired boy pressed against him to touch the worn-out shoe. He could see the mischievous joy twinkling in those grey eyes.

"Weasley," Cedric said with a rather uncharacteristic knowing smirk.

"Diggory," Percy answered back in his most pompous voice and as he was expecting, a full grin broke on the boy's lips.

The large group of Weasleys, Diggorys, Potter and Granger swarmed against the Portkey. Percy felt his his face flush at the contact of Cedric's skin against his. The little puffs of his warm breaths against his pink cheeks didn't help. Hidden from everyone's view, he slowly snaked his arm around the Hufflepuff's waist, pulling him closer. Luckily, the Portkey activated at the same moment and no one heard Cedric's gasp of surprise.

* * *

Percy walked through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. His crisp blue robes did little to hide his tiredness. His heart refused to calm and neither did his shaking limbs. Yet, his gait remained focused as he walked towards the familiar cubicles.

"Smith!" he yelled, jogging to the bald Ministry worker. "Did you see Amos?"

"Oh!" the man grimaced. "You haven't heard, have you? His son died in the Triwizard Tournament's Third Task."

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped and came crashing down on his shoulders. He gulped at the sudden weight overwhelming him, suffocating him. It couldn't be...

"Weasley! Weasley!"

He pushed past the man and ran out of the Ministry.

* * *

"The Yule Ball's coming."

Percy's words shattered the blissful atmosphere. Cedric disentangled himself from his embrace, the distress obvious on his face. The red-haired man watched as his boyfriend nervously ran a hand through his blond locks.

"I know... I can't go with you. We can't let anyone know."

"So you'll go with some chit?" Percy scowled.

"I have no choice! My father will kill if he learns that I'm gay. You know how he is. And it's not like you'll be left unscathed. You just entered the Ministry. Your career will be over once the news gets out."

Percy remained silent as his boyfriend paced in front of him, his arms waving in all directions. He knew that he was right, as he always was. They hadn't planned to come out so soon, not with Percy's new job at the Ministry and with Cedric still at school. Yet he couldn't stop the shard of jealous piercing his chest. His heart pained at the thought of another with Cedric.

"It's just a dance," the Hufflepuff pleaded.

"Fine," Percy straightened his crumbled robes. Picking his cloak, he rose to leave.

"Percy!" Cedric grabbed his arm but he shrugged him off and walked away from the dingy private room.

* * *

"Daily Prophet."

Percy threw the knuts at the vendor. His hands shook as he unfolded the newspaper. A wail escaped his lips when he looked at the picture on the front page. Cedric remained frozen in the moving black-and-white picture with his lifeless eyes gazing upwards. No mischievous merry or warm joy twinkled in those grey orbs. Tears splashed against the crumbled paper.

* * *

Percy gritted his teeth at the sight of Cedric with her. His heart squeezed when he saw him smiling at her. It might not be the genuine warm smile but still... The ex-Gryffindor bit his cheek when the Hufflepuff laughed at something she whispered in his ears.

"I've been promoted," Percy said loudly, turning to the person next to him, who turned out to be Harry. He didn't have to fake the smugness when Cedric turned from the chit to look at him. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

Through the corner of his eyes, he saw Cedric rolling his eyes at the fake pompous attitude. Percy still refused to look at him. Though, he did smile when Cedric ignored the girl when she said something.

* * *

Percy threw a Silencing Spell at his closer door. His slumped body stumbled through his body as he made his way to the drawer in the corner. He reverently removed the single picture – a cheerful Cedric hugging and kissing a smiling Percy. It was taken during the last day of his summer vacation. He wiped away the tears as he looked at the beaming Hufflepuff. His heart cried when he realised that he would never see him again. His smile, his words, his touch... everything was now just mere memories. He curled up on the ground with the picture pressed against his chest.

* * *

Hidden behind a tapestry, Percy's lips frantically claimed Cedric's. His hands roamed over the Hufflepuff's body, reassuring himself that he was really here, in front of him. His fingers dove through the drenched clothes, touching the bare skin. He could feel the heart beating next to his yet his fear never receded.

"I'm here, Percy," Cedric smiled as they broke contact. "I'm safe."

"I was scared," Percy whispered, hugging him.

"I know. And... Cho's not the one I'll miss the most. It's you."

"And for me, it's you," Percy smiled back.

* * *

Percy mindlessly played with the food on his plate. His sunken cheeks and hollow eyes testified his habitual lack of appetite. These last few weeks, he had thrown himself into his work at the Ministry. He arrived before everyone else and he left after everyone. It was the only way he could deal with the pain of losing Cedric. His heart painfully clenched at the thought.

"I've been promoted to Junior Assistant to Minister of Magic." A brief yet rare smile lit his lips at the thought of the last time he had announced his promotion at the Yule Ball. Everyone else at the table stilled with no hint of joy on the faces of his parents or siblings.

"I don't think this is wise, Percy. With what Dumbledore and Harry told-"

_Harry_

Percy clenched his fists under the table. A wave of fury overwhelmed the haze of grief. Harry who had dragged Cedric to his death. Harry who his own parents cared for more than himself. Why did Harry not die and let Cedric live? His boyfriend would have been here, by his sides. An intense hatred swirled inside him and it took all he had to not lash out.

"-so I think you should refuse this position."

"No."

By the end of the night, his own family chose his boyfriend's murderer over him. And he? He left the Burrow with only the memories of past joy and love to accompany him during his lonely journey.

* * *

Written for Percy Weasley Competition

Pairing: Percy/Cedric

Written for Greek Mega Mythology Challenge

Prompt: Write about a slash pairing

Written for Unusual Pairing Challenge

Pairing: Percy/Cedric

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: min. 600 words of any subject.


	45. Metamorphosis

**Metamorphosis**

Nymphadora smiled lazily as she softly blew out the cloud of cigarette smoke. She heartily welcomed the lightheadedness and the ephemeral release. Her half-lidded brown eyes gazed at the familiar stranger.

"The usual?"

"Yes." His voice was truly as severe as his name: Severus.

Tossing the cigarette aside, Nymphadora rose from the comfy armchair. She slowly walked towards him with each step bringing a change. She smiled as Severus' tense rigid jaws relaxed. The pale sallow skin flushed to a cherry pink. The cold dark eyes which had shone with a furious disdain, now twinkled with a lustful anticipation. The hard thin lips softened in a rare smile, instead of the usual sneer.

Clad in the skin of a certain Lily, Nymphadora chuckled as she ran a finger along his slack jaw.

'Such a fool for chasing the unattainable,' she smiled at the devotion of Severus' face. A brief yet painful twinge stung her heart. Was she not as much as fool for never refusing him?

* * *

Written for Pairing the Character Drabble Competition

Pairing: Severus/Tonks


	46. Boy in the Cupboard

**Boy in the Cupboard**

Ignoring the obese man's gaze, I slowly walked towards the stairs. My eyes roamed over the quaint room – the soft pastel colour of the walls, the frozen smiles on the still pictures, the plethora of strange knick-knacks. They all looked so... muggle. One would have never guessed that a wizard lived within these walls. Yet, even these distractions couldn't keep my thoughts away from the cupboard under the stairs. The forced mask of boredom and haughtiness hid the fear and anxiety rising beneath. The worst of my past stood on the other side and I couldn't help the dread clawing at my throat. And entwined with the fear was a morbid curiosity of what it would look like. Would it be the painful image of a red-haired friend with emerald-green eyes? Or would it be the face of a certain messy-haired Gryffindor bully? My mouth felt strangely dry under the assault of past memories.

"Alohomora."

The door opened with an ominous click. A boy hesitantly stepped out. Baggy patched clothes covered his skinny frame. The pitch black hair shone as darkest of nights against his pallid white skin. But worst was the weariness in those painful familiar eyes. My raised hand fell to my side, limp and helpless. The words and spells I had planned for faded in the bubbling dread. For in that particular moment, I saw no red-haired friend or messy-haired rival; all I saw was myself and my broken childhood.

"Hello," the boy asked, his voice scratchy and hoarse - as if he had been crying the whole night, or screaming from haunting nightmares. His eyes darted between the obese man standing behind and me when no reply came. "Excuse me, Sir, but who are you? Are you here to take me?" The wariness in his broken voice would have made any Slytherin proud but I could hear the hope hidden behind the words.

"Get moving!" the walrus-like man shouted. I bit my lips as the boy flinched violently. He shrank into himself, his bony arms wrapped around his shaking body.

"I didn't do anything," he whispered. "I don't even know how it happened. All I remember is the nightmares." His pain-filled eyes bore into mine, wordlessly pleading to me. And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't turn away. It was as if his torment had bound my helpless gaze to his.

"They are always the same," he continued in the same hypnotic whisper. His pale hands twisted n the overlarge shirt. His feet fidgeted against the door of the cupboard. "And they never stop. Sometimes, I dream of my father's screams. He yells at my mother to take me and leave. Sometimes, I dream of my mother's cries. She pleads to leave me alone, to spare me."

The bubbling dread froze to icicles of fear piercing my heart. My body openly shivered at the uttered words.

"No, no, not him, she cries... I see her standing in front of me, her hands raised protectively."

The image of the brave mother pleading for her son's safety filled my sight. I clenched my eyes shut yet her pain-filled cries still reached me.

"I dream of monstrous laughs and helpless cries. I hear my father's scared voice fighting. I hear my mother's tearful voice soothing me..."

I stepped away in a pathetic attempt to escape from his tormenting words. But the assault of past memories didn't relent. I shivered as each thought I had of her filled my mind – her warm twinkling eyes as she discussed Potions, her summer-like laughs with her frail hand in mine... I turned my head away but this time, I couldn't hide behind my curtain of greasy hair.

"-do it!"

The obese man's inane shouting broke through my pained haze. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes. I buried the agony beneath my usual blank face. Yet my hands still shook as I raised my wand. The boy stopped talking at the sight of the wand pointing at him. My heart clenched at the pain of betrayal shining in his eyes.

"No, no, please don't hurt me..." his voice turned hysterical.

I pointedly looked away from his familiar eyes. I stared at the signature black hair as well as the thin face and sharp features he had gotten from his father. I recalled the jeers, the insults and the torments from the same thin lips.

"Please, please, don't," he pleaded, having fallen to his knees in front of me.

But all his words did was bring back the memories of how I had once pleaded to the man with the same face. The icicles of fear thawed, leaving behind a sadistic amusement tinged with righteous fury. It wasn't hard to imagine the father in the place of the son. My heart felt suddenly light at the sight of him begging at my feet. The engraving of my wand's hand dug in my palm. My lips lifted in a sneer at the pathetic snivelling. How easy it would be to get back to those years of torment and cruelty? With a sudden resolve, I slashed my wand in a familiar arc.

"Riddikulus!"

The overpowered spell expelled the Boggart with the face of my seven-year-old self back in the cupboard. A moment of silence reigned in the Professor's quarters before I hurriedly grabbed my bag and ran from the third-year DADA examinations. I ignored the obese teacher's shouts of "Snape! Snape, come back here!"

* * *

Written for Second Competition That Must Not Be Named

Prompt: You cannot mention the names of ANY of the characters in your story, except in the final sentence.

Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Year Three: DADA)

Word: Broken; Mood: Abandoned; Mood: Hesitant; Emotion: Pity; Emotion: Amusement; Action: hit; Action: Run; Upper Word Count:3212 ; Lower Word Count: 555 ; Genre: Teen


	47. Celebrating Life

**Celebrating life**

The overbearing crowd pressed against him like a mammoth wave drowning his futile attempts of escape. Vibrant colours of robes danced around him, saccharine in their brightness and cheer. The cloying scent of their floral perfume mixed with the musk of sweat irritated his nose. He stoically bore the overzealous pats on his back and the clammy handshakes. He smiled tightly as he was rudely dragged for small talk and over-the-top congratulations.

"Alohomora."

Slipping his wand back in his pocket, Harry silently slipped through the glass doors. The loud cheers celebrating the one-month anniversary of Lord Voldemort's fall dimmed to a mere whisper. Harry sighed as he rested his head against the harsh touch of the stone wall. A cool breeze ruffled his messy black hair. Yet the reigning silence remained as stifling as the cheerful din inside. Images of the past year rose as fierce and overwhelming as ever in his mind – fight, escape, death, mourning, betrayal... He raked his pale fingers through his dark hair, futilely trying to find a moment of peace. The chaos in his mind made him wish for the loud distractions of the crowd.

"I knew I would find you here."

Harry turned and watched as Ginny came beside him. A beam of moonlight lit her rosy cheeks and fiery-red hair. A small smile adorned her lips. She looked truly pretty. Harry wished to touch her but instead, he dug his hands in his robes.

"It's time to let it go, Harry," Ginny finally spoke, her voice as soft and calm as the moonlight around her.

Harry didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to be free, to leave the past behind but he couldn't. "To let go what, Ginny? All my life I fought him. I never thought I would even survive. And now that I'm here, I don't know what to do. Everything feels so hollow."

"You only need to go forward from here."

"Go forward with what? An orphaned infancy? A broken childhood? Or a adolescence burdened with war?"

"Forward with the promise of a better future. Not everyone got that chance, Harry."

Her smile dimmed under the pale moonlight before it brightened again. She was much closer now. Harry could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. And before he knew, her lips were on his. It wasn't the urgent kiss of the past; it was soft and gentle- like a soothing balm.

"How?" Harry asked breathlessly as they broke contact.

"By being with your friends, by laughing, by living," she smiled at him. At that moment, he realised that in front of him wasn't the Gryffindor girl he had left in Hogwarts but a grown woman who had seen and borne the burdens of war.

Harry smiled as he allowed himself to be dragged back to the party, which strangely felt light rather than overwhelming. Maybe, Ginny was right. After the horrors of the past year, it was time that people celebrated their life – for themselves and for those who died for it. He could see Ron and Hermione dancing, their bright smiles obvious even from a distance. Neville and Luna were happily chatting with some of their year mates. The smile on Harry's face grew. He wouldn't be fine overnight but with the presence of the red-haired woman and his friends by his side, he would slowly heal like the rest of them. And maybe it was time for him to start celebrating life too.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition

Character Prompt: Harry Potter


	48. Asunder

**Asunder**

George turned away, unable to look at Bill's pleading eyes. His eyes roamed over the messy yet spacious room; every single item could be found in identical doubles - from the unmade bed to the purple uniform forgotten on the floor. Brushing off his eldest brother's grasp, he walked to his twin. He could see his own grief in those familiar blue eyes. A sad smile tugged on his lips and Fred smiled back.

"George."

He ignored Bill's voice behind him. He touched Fred's hand – a stiff cold instead of the familiar warm. George pressed his chapped lips against the frigid ones. Memories of warmer and fiercer kisses filled his mind, memories where they were one instead of mere halves.

"Fred," he whispered.

"Fred's dead! This is just a mirror."

George's heart lurched at his eldest brother's words yet he didn't move away from his twin's touch. Bill would never understand what it's like to be torn asunder from a twin, brother, friend, lover... If he had to live, he would do it by Fred's side, even if he was now a mere echo of what he had been before.

George gently caressed the cold cheeks while Fred stared back mournfully.

* * *

Written for Pairing the Character Drabble Competition

Pairing: Fred/George


	49. Past Regrets

**Past Regrets**

Albus walked along the dark corridors, his steps resounding through the hollow castle. From time to time, sounds of the outside world celebrating the new year boomed through the walls, eerily similar to the cacophony that he had faced the last time he had stepped in this prison. Several decades had passed but he could still see the unseeing eyes of slain wizards around him. He could still hear the uncomfortable squelch of thick blood under his feet. He could still feel the heat of bright spells grazing past his pale skin.

Albus shivered under the assault of haunting memories. His shoulders sagged under the burden of the past. Yet he didn't stop. His disillusioned self passed through the darkness to his destination, his grieving aura disturbing the gossamer of spiderwebs like the tricks of a haunting ghost.

Turning round a corner, Albus stopped as he saw him. His bony hands were grasping the iron bars while his blue eyes were staring at the stone walls. Like Albus, he had changed. His blond hair had turned grey. Wrinkles marred his pale face. Yet Albus still felt like the auburn-haired teenager peeking through his blond-haired lover's window at night. A weird uncomfortable taste filled his mouth as he hungrily stared at his past lover. His eyes followed him while the prisoner retreated to the back of his cell.

The headmaster slowly stepped forward. His trembling hand hesitantly touched the bars where a few minutes ago, the bony ones had lingered. He closed his eyes with the waning warmth filling his grasp. He fought off the memories of summers filled with a similar warmth pressed against him. His fingers felt as dirty and cursed as the ones on his withering right hand but he couldn't stop himself as his thumb gently caressed the bars in a familiar pattern.

He didn't know how long he stood there. The iron bars had long turned cold, with every remnant of the lingering warmth soaked within him. His eyes never wavered from Gellert's still body. With a final sigh, he turned to leave.

"Won't you at least wish me Happy New Year before leaving, Albus?"

The headmaster stopped at the sound of the painfully familiar taunting voice.

"Finite," he whispered with a wave of his wand, cancelling the Disillusionment Charm. He turned and found Gellert standing near the bars, the mocking mischief shining in his blue eyes.

"Happy New Year, Gellert," he said in his usual genial tone, betraying none of his internal conflicts.

"Happy New Year, Albus."

He remained silent as the prisoner's eyes roamed over every inch of him. After all, he had done the same a few minutes ago.

"Your hand..." Gellert said, the taunt noticeably absent from his voice.

Albus quickly his his hand within the folds of his robe but the damage was done. He watched as emotions battled in those blue eyes. Yet, Gellert said nothing. He moved forward before he was stopped by his prison. His hands fiercely gripped the cold bars. Albus wanted to move to him, to touch him, to speak to him. He didn't. For he knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to step back. So, he turned and left.

"Goodbye, Al."

Albus closed his eyes, his self-control crumbling inside him. It had been so long since he had heard that nickname.

"Goodbye... Gel."

With those final parting words, a teary Albus fled from Nurmengard.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle

Prompt: Albus Dumbledore (changed using the Angel Wings)

Written for Potions Class Competition

Prompt: Occulus Potion - Write about two people meeting each other again after a long time.

Written for Restricted Collection Challenge

Prompt: No references to a Hogwarts house

Written for Weekly Pairings Drabble Competition

Pairing: Albus/Gellert


	50. Bewitched

**Bewitched**

Morfin moaned as waves of the dark aura enveloped him. His legs shook at the caress of the seductive magic; his hands itched to ravish, to bask in this sinful pleasure. His eyes hungrily drank in the sight of the dark stranger in front of him – the elegant curls of soft locks, the carmine gaze, the aristocratic cheekbones... His similarity with the local mudblood never crossed his bewitched mind for the one in front of him was as far as one could be from the mundane muggles. This was a God – a sinful yet irrestible God.

Garbled words filtered through the lustful haze. "...take the blame of the murders of the mudbloods."

"Yes, yes!" he devotedly agreed, ecstatic at the thought of pleasing the God, his God.

A hand ruffled his lank dull hair, as one would do to a preferred pet. Morfin lost himself in the bliss of the moment – a sentiment which would prove to be most succulent to the dementors in the coming days.

* * *

Written for Weekly Pairing Drabble Competition

Pairing: Morfin/Tom Jr.

Written for the Restricted Collection Challenge

Prompt: 8. No question marks


	51. Perfectly Imperfect

**Perfectly Imperfect**

Blaise's husband, Gregory Goyle wasn't handsome like Lady Zabini's first husband. With dull blond hair, squinty little eyes and an overwhelming body build, he would, at best, be called 'generous'. Family vaults frozen or confiscated, he was no longer wealthy, unlike the second husband (who was said to be so rich that he lent money to the _goblins_). Gregory had neither the third's fame nor the fourth's immense magical power. The Slytherin's usual grunts would have had the fifth's silver tongue wagging in malice for weeks, if not months. The 'nincompoop' – as the scholarly seventh would have pompously said – would have never been able to rival the eighth's charisma.

Yet Blaise wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. For Gregory truly loved and cherished his spouse – unlike any of Lady Zabini's eight husbands.

* * *

Written for Restriction Collection Challenge

Prompt: 1. No dialogue

Written for Pairing the Character Drabble Competition

Prompt: Blaise/Gregory

Written for Variety Drabble Challenge

Prompt: Blaise/Gregory


	52. The Fourth Brother

**The Fourth Brother**

"And what about you, Hidden One?" Death's grating voice resounded through the banks of the river, moments after the third brother had fled under the Cloak of Invisibility.

The fourth brother stepped out of the shadows where he had been lurking. A mere squib, he knew that he didn't deserve any prize because he hadn't joined his brothers in their defeat over the looming spectre. However, the idea of a gift from Death itself was too generous to pass. He didn't seek a magical wand for it would be a mere stick in his hand. Unloved and certainly not bereaved, he had no use for bringing a dead to life. And he didn't want to follow his brother in a life spent hidden under a small cloak.

But the fourth brother wasn't without flaws. Decades spent staring longingly at feats of magic had deepened his thirst for power; decades spent flinching at his brothers' callous pranks had hardened his heart against magical arts. So he asked for a tool mightier than magic, a tool that could take life through a mere scratch, a tool that governed the laws of life and death where the magical didn't even dare step. He asked for Death's Scythe.

Armed with the spectre's ultimate weapon, the fourth brother walked away, separate from his three brothers. Everyday he would hold the sturdy black staff and polish the glinting blade. Everyday he would stop every hour to admire his prize and preen at the power resting on his palm. After a few weeks, he heard and immediately ignored the rumours of his eldest brother's death. But he couldn't ignore the powerful thrum of power calling him to use the Scythe. After a few months, he controlled his tears at the sight of his second brother's corpse. But he couldn't control the shivers as he finally drove the Scythe into his first victim, the bloody curved blade half-grinning at him in the dark. By the time came to collect his third brother, he had spent not even one moment without his weapon. He absolutely refused to relinquish the Scythe and more importantly, the Scythe refused to give up its hold on him. He became the God slaved to his Servant.

For Death had taken the fourth brother the moment the latter had touched the Scythe.

* * *

Written for The Daily Weird Prompt Thing: Halloween Special [Competition]

Prompt: Scythe


	53. Silent Torture

**Silent Torture**

Pansy bit her lip as the Professor's bony hand crawled down her arm - the oily sweat trailing along the venom of a fire snail. The large grimy fingers swallowed her puny hand and the handle of her wand.

"Don't be scared, pretty one."

A foul breath assaulted her nose but she refused to flinch. Yet she couldn't stop the little tremor along her spine. She could feel the Professor's squat form pressed behind her. His wheezy chuckles brushed against the nape of her neck.

"Why don't you teach the little miscreant what happens to those who defy the powerful?"

Pansy stared at the nameless third-year at her feet. His chubby face was openly scowling at her in sheer defiance but the shadow of fear was clear in his brown eyes. She didn't know whether to be disgusted at such open emotions or jealous...

"Crucio!"

The screams resounded through the room. The other skeletal hand snaked its way around her waist, pinning her to the monster behind her while the boy thrashed on the floor, his shouts clawing out of his throat. Pansy couldn't help but feel the pang of envy – at least, he got to scream during his tortures...

* * *

Written for Pairing the Character - Drabble Competition

Pairing: Pansy/Amycus

Written for The Restricted Collection (Challenge - NO DEADLINE)

Prompt: 29. No 'major' characters


	54. Unscarred Love

**Unscarred Love**

Bill's scars never stopped hurting.

Sometimes, they would sting when strangers' eyes travelled to his hideous cheek. Sometimes, they would burn when his mother sobbed about the war. He would never be able to sleep well at night, not with the horror stitched to his face. Many times, his hand would hover over his skin, the rough and crass touch of the papery scab reminding him that it hadn't been a nightmare.

Yet when Fleur would softly touch his marred cheek, Bill truly forgot about his pain. Under her touch, he felt like the scars had faded into untainted smooth skin and the horrors of the attack had fled into the dark recesses of a nightmares.

With Fleur, Bill became whole and alive again.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3]

Prompt: Smooth

Written for The Restricted Collection

Prompt: 49. No writing about children (students) in a trio era fic.


	55. Uncle Dudley's Advice

**Uncle Dudley's Advice**

Dudley sighed in relief as he walked into the clump of trees standing at the side of the road. He could still hear the cheers of Christmas from Harry's house behind him. He was happy having met his cousin after so many years but it was weird being surrounded by so many redheads in such a small room (especially after the Ton-Tongue episode). He had barely removed the cigarette from his pocket when he heard someone sobbing behind one of the large trees. Frowning, he turned around and saw a small red-haired girl sitting under one of the lower branches wiping her red-rimmed eyes.

"Lily?"

The girl jumped, startled. "Uncle Dudley?"

"Are you okay? Do you want me to get your father?"

"No!" she yelled frantically.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

Dudley didn't answer. He merely stared at her like Cho would whenever she would catch him smoking. It surely worked because within a few seconds, the little girl started squirming under his stare.

"It's just... some upper years in my school. They weren't happy that I was sorted in Hufflepuff," she said in a small voice staring at her shoes. "They kept saying that I wasn't a true Potter, I wasn't brave like the rest of my family."

Most of the words went over Dudley's head. He knew a bit about the school from Cho's talks but it was like learning about a whole new world. And Dudley had never been good with learning. "So they weren't happy that you joined this Hupple Turf club?"

"Hufflepuff," the girl corrected with a small smile. "It's not a club. It's one of Hogwarts Houses. It represents loyalty and hard work."

"But that's a good thing."

"I know, right! But it seems like not everyone agrees."

"So they've been bullying you."

Tears started afresh in her eyes. Dudley sighed as he sat next to her. He had never been good with crying girls. He was really lucky that Cho had never been the weeping type (though she had confessed being very 'emotional' during her teens).

"This is a pretty serious issue. Have you told your parents?"

"No," Lily shook her head. "I don't want them to worry. And if I tell James or Albus, I'm sure they would end up fighting their own Housemates."

Dudley could see why she was Harry's daughter. Both had the same stoic temperament of bearing their problems on their own shoulders.

"But you can't do nothing. Bullying can take an ugly turn very quickly. I know what I'm talking about."

"You have been targeted by bullies before?" Lily asked with wide eyes, her stare roaming over her strong build with a tinge of disbelief.

Dudley grimaced as he remembered the fat cruel bully of the past. He recalled the power and the thrill of targeting those weaker. He could still see the fear in his victims' eyes, silently pleading him for mercy.

"I have... known a few in the past," he whispered with a pang of shame. "They're monsters who will never stop until you stand up to them. "

"But they are all upper years and all I can do is a Lumos!"

Dudley ignored the Lumos (it sounded strangely like the incantation Cho used to for reading at night). "Hmm, that's a pickle. What if you don't use magic? You could use norm- muggle techniques?"

"Do you think it could work?"

Dudley smiled, rubbing him jaw as he remembered Harry's last punch. "I'm sure. Here, I'll show you a trick..."

_[linebreak]_

Headmistress McGonagall uncharacteristically gawked at a bruised and heavily-scratched Lily staring at her defiantly. She didn't know what to be shocked about - that two Fourth-Year Gryffindors had been bullying a little girl or that the sweet little Hufflepuff Lily had sent them to Hospital Wing for trying to pick on her again.

Pinching her nose, she muttered to herself, "I'm too old for this."

* * *

_Inspired from a Headcannon found on Pinterest_

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition

Prompt: Dudley (changed using Angel Wings)


	56. Tasted Like Chocolate

**Tasted Like Chocolate**

Remus Lupin hated chocolates.

The Gryffindor warily stared at the smears of dark chocolate across James' pouting lips. His nose crinkled at the sweet scent of Honeydukes Finest. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spied a snickering drunk Sirius (who was lounging in a pair of bright red boxers and a single white sock, having lost the rest of his clothes in the game of Truth or Dare).

"Come on, Moony! Man up. It's just a bloody kiss."

'Traitor!' Remus thought.

"Am I that bad-looking? Is this why Evans won't even look at me?" James said with his best – and effective – doe eyes.

"Prongs.. I .. Em..." he hastily backed away as his friend came closer. But before he could flee, a pair of lips claimed his. Remus froze at the contact. James pried his still lips open. Remus could taste the underlying faint taste of Firewhisky fading in the sweetness of chocolate. He moaned as a tongue slipped in his mouth. Its sugary flavour teased his senses for more. Remus ran his hand through the messy (yet surprisingly soft) black hair. His heart stopped at the sound of a soft moan.

"Oi, we said a kiss, not a bloody snog!"

Remus jumped away as if burnt. James leered at him while Sirius chuckled behind.

"You're going to have a very lucky Mrs. Lupin, Moony," James waggled his eyebrows, "I hope that Evans kisses as good as you or else, I'll be back for more."

Remus merely flipped him before retreating back to his bed. His mind retraced the thrills of soft moans and soft messy lock. His tongue flicked over his red lips, tasting the sweet remnants of Honeydukes Finest.

With a smile, Remus realised that chocolates weren't so bad, after all.

* * *

Wriiten for Weekly Pairings Drabble Competition! Week 5

Pairing: Remus/James

Written for The Restricted Collection 

Prompt: 28. No multiple settings in one fic


	57. Thirst

**Thirst**

The echoes of his screams finally faded to nothing, leaving only Kreacher's occasional sobs. Yet Regulus could still hear his mother's malicious shrieking, the Dark Lord's sinister laughs as well as his own screams tearing out of his lips. He winced at the pain in his throat, as if scratched raw by his unearthly yells for mercy.

"W-Water," he croaked, thirsty for some soothing reprieve.

Regulus melted in relief at the touch of a cup against his lips but the despair was agonising when the water disappeared before his first sip.

"Water..." he cried. His fingers scratched his bloody throat in a pathetic attempt to assuage the overwhelming thirst. No matter what Kreacher tried, no drops of water reached him. Through his half-opened eyes, Regulus saw the elf painfully tugging on its large ears.

And he saw the large lake behind the house elf.

The Slytherin crawled as quickly as he could in his weakened state. He ignored the uneven rocks cutting through his robes and scratching his pale skin. He ignored Kreacher yelling at him to stop. He ignored the pale white bodies floating in front of him. He eagerly gulped down the cool water, finally quenching the excruciating thirst.

Though the relief soon turned to horror as a cold hand clamped around his wrist.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Open Day – Team Black Duel

Prompt: Write only about the Blacks

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition

Prompt: Thirsty


	58. When Severus meets Severus

**When Severus meets Severus**

Albus loosened his silver and green tie as he wandered through the corridors. The crude hand-drawn map remained useless in his hand. He had been walking for the past twenty minutes and he hadn't seen anyone, let alone his friend.

"Excuse me, Sir?" he asked the portrait of a monk, "Do you know where the Gryffindor dorms are?"

"And why would a Slytherin be looking for Gryffindor Dorms?" a voice drawled behind him.

Turning, Albus' eyes widened in recognition at the curtain of limp hair and sneering thin lips. How could he forget one of his namesakes? Though he had to admit that the late Headmaster didn't look as severe as in the pictures back at home. Maybe it was the soft brush strokes of the painting or maybe it was the vase of white lilies which dampened the whole foreboding look.

"Potter? A Slytherin Potter?" Professor Snape said in a genuinely horrified voice, his pale skin turning almost white.

"Hello, Professor. Yes, some have already started calling me the Slytherin Potter," the boy said with a cheeky grin. "I'm Al, Albus Severus Potter."

"Severus..." The late Headmaster lost the little colour he had as he swayed within the gilded frame. The newly-sorted Slytherin wondered if portraits could faint.

"Yes, Dad told me that I was named after two brave Headmasters who sacrificed their lives for him," Albus grinned (thoroughly enjoying shocking the man who was known for his dark stoicism).

"Your father's Gryffindorness knows no bounds," the man mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, and with a louder voice, he added, "And why are you looking for Gryffindor Dorms?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to meet my friend-"

"Al!"

Albus turned in time to see Scorpius running towards him, his red and gold tie flying free. He distinctly heard a loud 'thud' behind. Apparently, portraits could faint.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 3

Prompt: Picture

Written for Archery Competition

Wordcount: 150 - 1500


	59. The Founders

**The Founders**

As the sun set over the horizon, smearing the sky with bloody reds and bruising purples, Salazar panted as he finally arrived at his destination. His arms protectively clutched his sleeping four-year old son. He surveyed the looming but abandoned castle. The iron-wrought ornate gate were obliterated to the side. The numerous towers laid defeated on the ground, a dying testament to the castle's former splendour.

Salazar walked through the shattered wooden doors, his steps unsure over the treacherous pebbles and concrete. He stared at the half-destroyed stairs standing in the air, as if levitated by the wonders of magic. He could feel the eyes of the broken sculptures following his every movement. He came to a still as he entered a Great Hall. The roof had caved in, leaving the darkening sky open to sight. Had the rubbles not been lying on the ground, he might have believed that the starry night had been enchanted on the cathedral roof.

"Father?" Salazar plastered a smile on his face as he looked at his half-awake son, Godric. "I thought that we were going home for Hanukkah."

The fake smile on the former teacher's face faded. How could he explained to his child that their home was no more... "This is going to be our new home, Dric." His heart pinched at the sight of the disheartened look on his innocent boy's face. He quickly added, "And not just any home, but a school of magic!"

"Magic?"

"Yes, a school for wizards and witches who come here to learn about magic – enchanting, potions, defence... And we're going to be here for a while to start this new school to welcome the new students."

"What about Ro and Mother?"

Salazar's hold around his son tightened as the smile slipped off. The last screams of his six-year old Rowena filled his ears. He felt his dear Helga's last breath waning under his hands.

"Father?"

Salazar painfully chased the haunting memories to the back of his mind as he turned to his son with a wide smile. "Of course, Rowena will join us later. She had always been the intelligent one, hadn't she? And your mother will probably be welcoming every student with open arms, telling them about the importance of hard-work. But before that, we need to name the school. What do you think we should name it?"

Godric launched himself in whispering several names while Salazar steered him through the castle, looking for a proper place to hide. He ultimately decided to avoid the shaky stairs though he did find a secret chamber (empty except for a single grass snake) in one of the bathrooms in the upper floors. He finally decided on the store room hidden behind a wall in the dungeon.

The father and son settled themselves on the cold floor. A single candle - an coincidental symbol of their bereaved and lonely Hanukkah - shone on the nine-branched menorah for Salazar couldn't risk anyone spotting them in such dangerous times. Sharing the meagre bread with his son, the gaunt man listened to Godric's merry ramblings.

"Hogwarts!" the young child said triumphantly.

"What kind of name is Hogwarts?" Salazar chuckled.

"Mother told me that witches had warts and that they transformed naughty boys into hogs. So I thought we could name it Hogwarts."

"Certainly," Salazar smiled before a sombre look passed through his face. "Godric, one rule about magic is that you never be spotted by others. They don't have magic. They won't understand you. They will harm you, will try to steal your magic. So no matter what happens, you should never be found by others."

"But Father, Mother said that we should share..."

"No Godric!" Salazar voice thundered through the small voice while the single flame flickered. "Do you understand me?"

Godric looked scared with wet eyes yet he silently nodded his acceptance. Salazar felt guilt creeping up his gut but he squashed it. He had already lost his daughter and wife. He wouldn't lose his remaining family. He couldn't let the soldiers find them, not after what had happened the last time. It was only after his crying son fell asleep on his chest that Salazar let the tears go as his body shook from the sobs of grief.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle - Finals

Prompt: Historcal!AU (WWII)


	60. Ronald Weasley, the Shopping Monster

**Ronald Weasley, the Shopping Monster**

Like every other teenage boy, Hugo groaned out loud when he saw that he needed to bring dress robes for his upcoming year. However, his loud whining was met with equally loud cheers. Before he knew it, strategic plans were being made, trends were being discussed and Wizard Weekly became a regular sight on the table. And it wasn't his mother or his sister who was leading this dress robe obsession. It was his father - Ronald Weasley.

The weirdest part was that no one was finding this strange. His mother smiled understandingly at the cheerful comparison of trendy new robes over mouldy old ones. Uncle Harry chuckled when his father told him about the whole day planned for dress robe shopping. Uncle George laughed out and hugged his father when shown the different cuts from Wizard Weekly.

So this was how Hugo was dragged to Madam Malkin by an over-enthusiastic father at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning. Several magazines were immediately spread on the counter in front of the pretty salesgirl and the old seamstress. Spreads of cloth, ranging from a horrible burnt orange to a silver as shiny as a Sickle, were draped over him. Hugo wondered if he could disappear under the mountain of silk and cotton as his father continued discussing with Madam Malkin.

"I don't want any ruffles, not on the collar, not on the hem and not even in the inside," he said while the old lady nodded. Hugo reddened as the salesgirl giggled behind them."And is it possible to have self-ironing charm on the robe? I don't want it to look frayed, not even if it had been pushed to the bottom of the trunk."

"Dad, stop being so embarrassing. It's just dress robes!" the young Gryffindor said... a bit too loudly, judging by the frozen look on everyone's faces.

"Oh.. I..." his father muttered as his cheeks turned red. Hugo immediately felt the guilt coiling inside him. He knew that his father's childhood hadn't been the most comfortable and because of that, Ronald Weasley left no stone unturned to pamper his children. Was it really that bad if he wanted to satisfy himself by buying his son the best dress robe?

"I mean," Hugo said more quietly, "the royal blue silk looks kinda cool."

He couldn't stop the smile as his father grinned back at him. The day would be a really long one but maybe, it was worth it.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club - Round 4

Prompt: dress


	61. The Last Wizard

**The Last Wizard**

_2853 A.D._

Long had been the foray into one of the last reserves of jungle on the planet and even more dangerous had been the journey of slipping through the guards of Vigilantes and Sentinels. Yet, the stranger didn't even think of abandoning in annual pilgrimage. Stripped of his usual bionic accessories and his metal coat, he was no longer 4ryP0tt3r, the assistant scientist to Division 02481. He wasn't even sure that anyone or anything would be able to recognise him at first glance with his unusual white cloth-robe and loose shoulder-long hair. Here, he was merely a clandestine but unnamed wizard, the last of his kind.

The robe fluttered behind him as he entered the desert castle. A gentle thrum of magic caressed past his pale skin, leaving behind a small smile. His hands trailed along the uneven stone walls while his eyes roamed over every inch of the ancient, committing every detail to mind. With a fervent hunger, he relived the memories of his mother narrating him the history and lore of his people within these same walls. He recalled her bright green eyes as she told him about his heritage and the honour of being one of the last magic-wielders. He thought of the tales of the Wise Merlin who brought magic to Earth, the brave Harry who uprooted the evil of Dark and the selfless Erkley who sacrificed himself to save magic from the eyes of the muggles.

Yet mixed with wonder was the grief of finality, which wormed into his heart as he looked around him. Sculptures had long turned to dust. Paints had disappeared from the canvas, leaving behind an occasionally swivelling blue eye or a lone gesticulating hand. Cracks had appeared on the walls of the ancient school, reminiscent of the blue veins of a human vegetable he had once seen. For magic was dying... slowly but surely. Magic was leaving Earth and its people. None of his children had the spark of magic. A small part of him hoped that maybe his grandchildren would continue his legacy but deep down, he knew it wasn't to be.

His legs took him through the seven floors, through various rooms of various sizes. And by the time the night fell, he found himself in the Great Hall (as his mother had called the herculean room). He stood at the raised dais, gazing at the open space. Likely every year, he tried to imagine hundreds, if not thousands young wizards and witches standing in front of him to carry on the way of magic. And like every year, the thought made his heart clench for the loss. When the moon rose, he wandlessly lit the dozens of candles he had brought and levitated them to the roof. He sat under the bright light and on that night of Samhain, he dedicated each of his thought to the legends and heroes of the past. He thanked them for their gift and asked for strength to bear the burden of being the last wizard, to watch magic take its last breath along with his.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 5

Prompt: Desert

Written for AU Challenge and Competition 100 Points

Prompt: Scientist!AU


	62. Cycle of Seasons

**Cycle of Seasons**

And the cycle of seasons spun, giving birth to one of the harshest winters ever seen. The howls of a fierce blizzard welcomed his first wails on that New Year's Eve. The embrace of his mother turned cold as the warmth of life fled away. The absence of a father's hand left his shriveled little body cold while the presence of the callous matron only made him colder. The night turned to months and months gave in to years; his whole infancy and childhood stretched over the unending winter. Frosty whispers of malice followed his first steps. Harsh strikes of the icy cane answered his first questions. With time, he learnt to protect himself with a cloak of indifference and cruelty. Not unlike the scales of the snakes he talked to, he hardened his heart till it was cold and unfeeling. Yet, his ice-carved mask momentarily thawed at the arrival of a letter, at a message of freedom.

And the cycle of seasons spun, the wintry childhood blossoming into the spring of adolescence. He stepped out of the dirty suffocating mud into a new world of warm magic – a hidden world where proud messenger birds flew in the sky while plants shrieked and danced under wizard's touch. Green burgeoned on his bleak second-handed clothes. His sharp mind investigated and mastered even the darkest of branches of magic. Nurtured by his ambitions, he bloomed, he thrived, he reigned over his peers. Surrounded by intelligent eagles, loyal badgers, reckless lions and of course, cunning snakes, the young bud rose and grew into a new man. Yet, the shadow he had hid underneath him only grew with him.

And the cycle of seasons spun, bringing the glory of summer to his feet. Having disappeared for several years, he returned – fiercer and more fearsome than ever. Pure-blood, half-blood, mud-blood... everyone stood helpless as he rose through the sky – unstoppable and untouchable. His matured magic shone like a beacon, blinding the staunchest opponents who dreamt of impeding his pursuits. Legions – allies and enemies alike – sweated under the heat of his glare. The cunning and the ambitious sought the protection of the Dark; those brave and foolish enough to stand with the Light burned to ashes under his wrath. Yet, standing at the pinnacle of his ascent, he forgot that all that rose had to fall one day.

And the cycle of seasons spun, autumn seeping through the reign of summer. Blood-red leaves splashed through the trees and died before falling helpless to the ground. Wraith-like bare trees stood like skeletal corpses, their haunting eyes watching as people scurried around in fear. The silent and sadist wind slipped through the throngs of people, whispering words of approaching cold dark times. Under the gloomy cloak of the sky and behind the helpless cry of the mass, he stood like a black spectre – distorted, waxy... almost inhumane. And on that night of Samhain, he walked to his enemies' hideout. He raised his wand to smite the prophesied toddler only to be the one facing the deadly curse. Yet, forced to flee, he vowed to return to avenge his fall.

And the cycle of seasons spun, giving in to long wintry nights of hibernation. He bore the agony silently, he roamed around helplessly and most importantly, he waited patiently. Because he knew that the rise of spring and dark summer lurked at the end of winter. For the cycle of seasons would spin over and over again...

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 6

Prompt: Cycle


	63. Tri-Prisoner Tournament

**Tri-Prisoner Tournament**

Halloween was always a grand affair at Hogwarts Prison. Maybe, because it was indeed the night of monsters – whether they were chained to the pages of fables or restricted to the cages of prison. Sitting in the dark moonless Great Hall, Harry let the swarm of whispers wash over him. Years ago, he would have trembled at being close to such beasts but not now, not when he was one of them. Yet, he could taste something wrong in the air – an oily tang of ill omens – and the ball of dread swelled inside him...

A lone spotlight appeared over Albus Dumbledore – Chief Warden of Hogwarts. His waist-long white beard shone under the light. The old man smiled genially at the crowd though Harry wondered if he was the only one who could see the veiled madness behind those blue eyes.

"I hope you all had a great feast. I particularly enjoyed the Ratatouille," Dumbledore said good-naturedly. "This makes me even happier for the presence of our esteemed guests amidst us, despite some unfortunate past events." Harry turned his head towards the left of the Great Hall where the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons prisoners were sitting. He couldn't see them but he could hear their amused whispers and chuckles. They had never hidden their glee over the complete destruction of their Prison Centre and murders of the two Chief Wardens. "And like I announced last week, to celebrate this reunion of the three institutions under one roof, we have decided to re-introduce the Tri-Prisoner Tournament."

"More like Tri-Prisoner Massacre," Ron muttered beside him while Harry again wondered how Dumbledore could have convinced the authorities for this event. Pitting one prisoner against another was a recipe for disaster but then, the Chief Warden was genius enough to get what he sought – crazy but genius.

"I have with me the names of our three chosen prisoners. I would request each Champion to join me when I announce his name." Removing a blood-red card, he announced, "The Champion for Durmstrang is Victor Krum."

"No surprise there," Ron whispered amidst the raucous applause. Harry nodded, forgetting that his friend couldn't see him. Krum was notorious for catching the Snitch – a turncoat who had exposed the vast networks of Bulgarian mafia in exchange of his freedom. It was rumoured that Krum had single-handedly killed the man in broad daylight with the broken shaft of a broomstick. Looking at his hulking tattooed form and feral scowl under the spotlight, Harry had no trouble believing those rumours.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons is..." the old man removed a glossy periwinkle paper, "Fleur Delacour." Loud cheers (along with catcalls and loud sloppy kisses) welcomed the announcement.

"It's _him_!" Harry muttered next to Ron's ears while a smiling Florent Yard, alias Fleur Delacour appeared next to Krum. The blond mane shone under the light, like a golden crown befitting the self-proclaimed 'queen' of Beauxbatons. Outside the prison, his effeminate wiles might have been mocked but within these walls, surrounded by desperate and horny inmates, they were revered. Cunning and exceptionally beautiful, Fleur knew how to twist a man's thoughts and turn one against another just to protect himself.

"And the Champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory."

"Not that moron!" Ron shouted next to him but Harry disagreed. With a pretty face and meek attitude, Diggory should have been one of those bullied during the day and dragged to the bed at night. But he wasn't. Son of a famous politician caught in a drug scandal, Diggory was kept alone in a well-protected cell and always had a guard close. He didn't have Krum's brawn or Fleur's cunning, but he had friends - powerful friends.

"Now, let's give-" Dumbledore started when a piece of paper hit his face. Only a quick agility belying his age allowed him to grab it before it was lost to the darkness. The genial smile disappeared in an expression of rage and sheer madness as the old man read the paper. Harry found himself unable to breathe when the dread rose as bile inside him.

"It seems that someone wishes to be the fourth Champion," his voice remained deceptively gentle while the icy blue eyes scanned the crowd and uncannily stopped on Harry's emerald green ones, "isn't it, Harry Potter?"

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 7

Prompt: Disappear

Written for Hogwarts Games – Bloodbath Round

Prompt: Periwinkle

Token Used: Emerald (word)


	64. The Freaks

**The Freaks**

His gentle touch brushes against my quivering body, igniting every inch of my skin. His hot breath warms the nape of my neck, intoxicating and ensnaring every of my senses. My hands clutch the silky white sheets as my back arcs in ecstasy. A soft moan escapes through my half-open lips. Bodies press against me as I thread my way through the crowd. I feel his mischievous gaze following me, like the gallant bee seeking the most beautiful flower in the meadow. I laugh as I look back, my blond curls bouncing and free. The icy gust bites my exposed skin. I stand still. I stare at the grey metal smirched with red. I raise my hand, hypnotised. It moves slowly, as if scared of the expected coldness. Yet, I cannot stop myself, just like the cautioned child who cannot stop himself from venturing in the beguiled winter, from losing himself to its wintry harshness...

His warmth envelopes me as he catches up to me. He spins me around, our laughs ringing in the air. His bare skin burns against mine. Our sweaty hands lay intertwined. I blush as he whispers in my ear. I run my fingers through his black locks. I watch as they trace the scarlet letters, cold as death, red as death.

_FREAKS_

The crowd disperses as we stand in the middle. Their vulture-like eyes look at us, waiting to tear our flesh apart. Unfazed, he seeks my lips, hot and ravenous. I clutch the soft sheets while his tongue teases me. I gaze at the red draped against my fingers. It stands stark against my pale skin - screaming, yelling, shouting about being different, about being a monstrosity.

The crowd throbs and grows. The faceless men move as one immense beast. Their voices rise as one final death knell. Their hands raise as one strike of the sword. His body drapes over mine, shielding me. His words fill my ears with sweet dreams of our future ahead. He speaks of a small house, a big yard and lazy Sundays spent on bed – a tomorrow filled with joys and life. And I let myself drift away in the lull of his love...

Our small bubble succumbs to the blows of their fangs. We hear them now - the accusing whispers. They keep chanting their gospel of bigotry like a mantra. His thumb gently caresses my moist cheek. He plants a small kiss on my bare shoulder. The echoes of our steps resound as we run away from the slithering crowd. We scream for help. No sheltering doors open, no helping hands appear, no friendly faces smile. His eyes remain determined as he fights for us, for me.

The acid-like red on my fingers becomes suddenly alive and bubbles like hot magma. It eats up my flesh, melds with the blood till I can't even discern my own bubbling flesh and the red-hot hissing stain. Silent tears betrays my pain while my mouth opens in mute horror. I look at him as he whispers words of comfort to me. His mouth moves but the words never reach me. All I hear are the accusing whispers. They say that I'm a freak and that I've sinned. They speak of abomination and hell.

I stumble. My hand slips away. I fall down. I watch as the crowd catches up to me. The thousands of eyes stand above me, judging my very soul. He shakes me up as I cover my ears. I writhe in pain; the whispers increase to a deafening crescendo. The fangs rise up in the air, ready to sentence me. His hands caress my face, calling me. His tears drop and roll down my cheek while he wails and yells. I hear him running towards me, to be my shield as always, but we both know that it's too late. The fangs descend like the blade of the guillotine. My scream pierces through the silence as I tear off the last inch of my infected skin.

I lay there, immobile, silent, strangely devoid of myself. The cruel acid has consumed me, burned my identity to ashes. The silky white sheet turns red while I turn white. He shakes me. His wails and his pleas never reach to me. I don't feel his soft touch. I don't hear his words of love. I don't respond to his last sobbing kiss. The whispers have died too. The faceless crowd stands aside, high and dignified in their victory. Their mocking smiles adorn the fangs, satiated by our grief and tragedy. After all, we are just the freaks.

* * *

_A/N: Hello. I know that this is a highly abstract piece of writing. It's actually an experiment where several stories (three in this case) have been meshed together to provide simile as well as contrast. Everything has been intentionally stripped from this story – names, characters, plot, perfect fluidity and maybe even meaning. Only thing left is the aim to make the reader feel – the soft love, the growing horror, the confusion and the hopelessness. I liked the outcome of my experimentation but I realise that not many will get this story. Some may not even like it. So with an open mind, I welcome every constructive cristicism (postive or negative). Like I said, it's just an experiment. So, no worries. Cheers._

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 8

Prompt: Ahead


	65. Unstoppable Drarry Craze

**Unstoppable Drarry Craze**

There were only a few times when Harry had been truly shocked – shocked to the point that the world stopped spinning for a moment and when it began to turn again, everything had been irrevocably changed. The first had been when Hagrid had told him that he was a wizard, the second had been when he had learnt that he was a horcrux and the third was this very moment. He unblinkingly stared at the cover of Witch Weekly. When Lavender had asked him to sign a copy, he was expecting another run-of-mill rumour... not this! His eyes couldn't move away from the photo showing Malfoy and him together - not just together as in standing next to each other but rather together as in together together. Harry cringed as the his picture self laid his head on the blond's shoulder. It was obviously PhotoMagicked. There was no way Malfoy would ever smile so benignly; it looked downright creepy. And the day Harry found such a sappy look on his own face, he would drag himself to St. Mungos. And as if that wasn't bad enough, in huge glittery letters, the headline announced:

_Unstoppable Drarry Craze_

"So- Um, Lavender," Harry hesitated, almost afraid of the answer to his question. "What is this Drarry thing? Is it some kind of mental disease? Or a dark torture curse?" Because these were the only cases which would warrant such a picture.

Lavender scoffed at him. "Don't be silly. It's what the fans call your pairing with Draco. It's Draco and Harry merged together, signifying your love making the two of you into one. I think it's romantic."

Harry thought that it was utterly stupid. But he had long given up commenting on Wizarding names. Comparing it to a bar named Hog's Head and an owl called Pig, he was grateful it wasn't something like Potfoy or Haraco.

"Yeah, it's nice," Harry said through gritted teeth. "But Malfoy and I... aren't a thing. And we'll never be."

"The future is unpredictable," Lavender scolded in a strangely Hermione-ish manner. "You have taken Divination for three years. You should know this."

"Lavender, I'm the Captain and Seeker for Puddlemere United. He's the seeker for Falmouth Falcons. We are rivals! This thing you are talking about, it's impossible."

"The star-crossed lovers divided by the Quidditch world," Lavender nodded morosely, as if she was at someone's deathbed. Harry wondered if it was that of his sanity. "There's an article about that on page 14. It will get better, Harry."

"You aren't understanding me. I hate Malfoy and Malfoy hates me. Last time, we met on the pitch, both of us ended at St. Mungos along with three of our teammates. Last week, I punched him when I saw him at a party." He wasn't going to mention Malfoy's kick which almost brought him to tears! His ego was bruised enough.

"Yes, I know. Greengrass had an interesting theory on that. Through Talgomott's TriFold Array, she proved that the aggression and harm shown is directly proportional to the origin and expansion of unresolved sexual tension and pure unadulterated lust. You can find it on pages 21, 22 and 23, along with the Arithmetic diagrams and charts."

Harry stifled the scream rising in his throat. Maybe it was the fact that someone had drawn an Arithmetic array for this thing, maybe it was the fact that it covered three pages or maybe it was the 'unadulterated lust' part but he couldn't take it anymore. This wasn't happening. So, he turned and left. It was hours later, when he was busy pacing in his bedroom, that he realised that the Witch Weekly was still in his hand.

* * *

But it was too late by then. The magazine remained in his drawer like a monster lurking in closets. No matter where he was or he went, he could feel its presence. And in the shadows of the night, he would read through the glossy pages with a morbid curiosity. He tried to stop himself but he couldn't resist. It was like an itching peeling skin which one couldn't help but remove. It was painful but it had to be done. With green eyes round as galleons, he would read the insane fangirls' theories. One narrated his Sixth Year's obsession with Malfoy – completely twisted and out of context. For the record, he hadn't stalked him; he _spied_ on him. Had he not known her for years, he would have sworn that it was written by Hermione.

But now facing Malfoy in the middle of a bustling Diagon Alley, he regretted even touching that filthy rag. Because looking at that taunting smirk, he couldn't help remembering "Ode to Draco's Sexy Smirk" on page 12. Harry gulped as he realised that it indeed looked "sinfully Slytherin".

"Are you okay, Potter?" the notorious smirk faltered.

Grey eyes crinkling in worry, Malfoy stepped closer – much closer.

Sweating heavily, Harry could feel every lurking girl's eyes on himself. Some were openly fanning themselves. Vane had already fainted. The words from page 32 (Drarry Kisses, Sexy Kisses) filled his head. The same curiosity which had kept him awake at midnight, reared its ugly head. Were Malfoy's lips really soft? Did he moan? Was he always in control? The questions painfully churned in his mind till he snapped.

And Harry kissed Malfoy.

A shocked silence from the crowded street welcomed the sudden act, only to be broken by Bulstrode's loud shout:

"I knew it! Drarry is real!"

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club Competition [GAME 3] ROUND 9

Prompt: expansion

Written for AU Challenge and Competition 100 Points

Prompt: 45. We're shipped by most people that we know AU (BONUS POINTS FOR:We actually are rivals because of our jobs)


	66. Here Lives A Shackled House Elf

**Here Lives A Shackled House Elf**

"I had told you to polish this ring," Master Lucius hissed, his cold grey eyes narrowed in fury. Dobby flinched as the blond man brandished the unpolished silver jewel in front of his face like a lethal weapon. But the house elf merely wrung his hands, his eyes fixed on the floor. He had indeed been ordered to clean Mistress Narcissa's jewelleries. And he did! He had spent a whole day, manually and meticulously cleaning each curve and indent. Last time, he had missed a pale smudge and had been left bloodied for a whole week. But his Master's old ring wasn't there...

Yet Dobby offered no defence. Or rather, he couldn't. His magic rose around him, shutting his mouth and stifling the rising indignation. Thick self-loathing battled with his innate pitiful pride. His hands twitched by his side, torn between slapping himself for disappointing his master and defending himself from the unjust wrath. But before his limbs could decide, Master Lucius struck him with his cane, throwing the house elf to the nearby wall.

"I expect you to punish yourself _most severely_ for this disappointment." Echoes of the cold order rang through the study of the fortress-like manor.

Dobby nodded pathetically as he painfully rose from the floor and wiped the bloodied wounds before they could stain the fine carpets. He ignored the cries of pain bubbling inside his throat – it would be shameful to show his master his agony. After all, it wasn't proper of a bonded house elf. After a final dismissal, the house elf disapparated to his room – a grim small cupboard under the ironing table. The distinct taste of guilt filled his senses, overwhelming his crushed pride and rising pain. His mind whispered of ingratitude and negligence towards a master who fed and sheltered him. Accusations of shaming his whole clan – of being 'a bad elf" – rang through his drooping ears. But Dobby could feel the voices' oily tang. He knew it wasn't his conscious; it was his own magic – twisted and distorted by the forefathers of the wizards he served. Yet there was nothing he could do.

The house elf watched as his limping feet carried him to the red-hot iron. And before he knew it, his own hands grabbed the searing metal plate. Smell of burning skins and screams of agony filled the small room. The accusing whispers spoke of just punishment, of atonement for hurting his master, for letting him down. The suffocating guilt soothed under the balm of excruciating pain. But the trodden outrage he had buried deep inside him roused...

* * *

Written for Fanfiction World Adventures Competition I! [Round One]

Prompts: (word) Fortress ; (plot/theme) Someone being mentally or physically abused/tortured ; (object) Jewels ; (word) Grim

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2 - Single Accessory

Prompt: 200 words minimum


	67. Vengeance

**Vengeance**

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" Sirius roared. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Twelve years!

Twelve years, he had spent in hell, waiting and planning for this very moment. Twelve years he had stubbornly fended off the Dementor-induced insanity by shielding himself with this overwhelming and consuming fury. Every single second of those damned twelve years, he had lived with this gaping chasm inside him which would only be filled with revenge. And now...

His hand tightened around the wand. He could feel the rush in his veins at the realisation of having finally cornered the rat. He wouldn't let him escape this time, not like he had years ago. A familiar growl escaped his throat at the sight of the snivelling pathetic traitor - one who had chosen his own safety and freedom against his friends' lives. He took a step forward as Moony walked towards him.

"You should have realised," Remus said quietly to the rat, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

This was it! Sirius raised his hand. Out of the corner, he watched as the bushy-haired girl covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall. His godson remained frozen for seconds before he ran forward.

'How could he not?' Sirius thought derisively to himself. It seemed that Harry had inherited not only Lily's compassion and independence but also her naivety. But he was neither naïve nor compassionate…

"Avada Kedavra!" Sirius yelled. The deadly curse hit the bald snivelling man. Basked in the green light, Sirius relished in his final look of terror and fear. He heard someone screaming behind but it didn't matter. The lifeless body hit the ground at the same time that a loud laugh escaped from his own lips. He had done it. He had finally avenged James and Lily. He hadn't been able to protect them but this... this final vengeance would absolve him of his mistakes. His body sagged as he let go these years of anger. But the emptiness remained - gaping with crushing grief. His sobbing laughs filled the shack as he sank to his knees. He barely registered Moony's arms around him. He lifted his head and his tear-filled grey eyes met Harry's vibrant green ones - Lily's eyes. His heart pinched at the utter shock and fear looking back at him. But it was fine. The traitor would never harm his godson now. He was gone. It was done.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2 

Prompt: a light side character casts a successful killing curse, and the fallout from this event

Written for Fanfiction World Adventures Competition I

Prompts : (word) Freedom ; (word) Independence ; (plot theme) Write about someone finally getting justice for something.


	68. Mudblood-Who-Lived

**Mudblood-Who-Lived**

It was a pathetic little teddy bear, barely larger than her small hands. A gaudy maroon button replaced the left eyes, which had been lost during a scuffle the previous year. Mud and dirt had turned the white fur coat into a pale brown. Yet, it was Amy Benson's most prized possession. Gifted by the old couple who lived across the orphanage, it was the only gift the seven-year old had ever received.

Clutching the teddy protectively against her chest, she glared at the seven-year old Tom Riddle with as much venom as a small child could. "It's mine!" she yelled in her usual shrill voice.

"But I want it." The young boy took a step towards her as she backed into the wall.

"No!"

"Give it to me."

"It's Amy's. Go away!" Dennis Bishop jumped between the two. His straw-like mop of hair blocked the girl's view but she could hear the hatred in Riddle's last word.

"Fine."

* * *

Horror filled her as she stared at the lifeless form of the rabbit in Tom Riddle's hands. She couldn't avert her eyes from the way the white head drooped down, from those glazed red eyes, from the unnaturally still chest.

"You... You killed it." She heard Dennis behind her.

"Yes, and if you don't stay quiet, the same may happen to you," Riddle said casually, as if he didn't have a dead pet in his hand.

"It was Billy's..."

"Now, you too will leave and never speak of this again."

"No!" Dennis said behind her at the same time as she yelled, "Mrs. Cole!"

* * *

Amy stood frozen, her hands itching to scratch the pressure building around her. Her breaths remained stuck in her throat, as if scared of coming out. She could feel thousand eyes looking at her, measuring her from the shadows of the dark damp cave.

Her eyes met Riddle's amused grey ones. For a mere instant, she felt as if she was doused in icy water.

"You two have been really bothersome," he drawled in his usual arrogant tone. The ten year-old circled her and Dennis, his gaze never leaving them. "So I'm going to play a game. I named it 'Who kills his friend first'?"

Dread and worry bubbled inside her. She couldn't even wipe the tears in her eyes or rub the goosebumps rising on her hands.

"Ladies first," Riddle smiled. It reminded Amy of a snarling dog. The grey eyes bore into her blue ones. "You will kill Dennis, Amy. Don't you think that he's too annoying? And so ugly too? Don't think it will be better if he just stop... existing?"

Amy's mouth opened in a silent scream as her hands moved on their own. She fought yet they still moved towards Dennis' throat. She couldn't even look at the small boy's tear-stained face, his shaking hands or the pleading brown eyes. She couldn't. She didn't think he was annoying. He was just... a boy. And he always helped her with her work. And he played with her. He wasn't ugly – not with those clear brown eyes. She didn't want to kill him. She couldn't.

"No!" the scream finally tore out of her throat. And it didn't stop. The shouts scratched her throat raw yet she didn't stop. Not until Mrs. Cole ran inside and took her and Dennis in her arms, shielding her from the little monster.

* * *

Amy couldn't wrap her mind around what was happening. One moment, her husband and she were having dinner and the next moment, these cloaked and masked men entered their house, brandishing weird sticks. At her first shout, one fired a green light at Dennis. He never rose again. She ran to her son's room. Locking the door, she clutched the one-year old protectively in her arms. And that's when the door burst open and she raised her head...

Monster!

That was the first word that came in her mind when the fifty-year old Amy Bishop saw the... creature in front of her. She shivered as the slitted red eyes stared at her.

"Amy... Benson," the monster hissed. "I certainly didn't expect to ever see you again. It seems that fate has blessed me with a last chance to exact my revenge..."

"Who... who are you?"

"Don't you remember, little Amy? We met in very similar circumstances for the first time, except you had a toy instead of your son in your hands..."

Amy thought of the little monster she had known in her childhood. Could it be... "Riddle."

A sneer appeared on the lip-less mouth. "Indeed. You never gave me that toy I wanted. Why don't you give me your son now?"

"No!" she shouted, turning her body to shield her small baby.

"I'll even let you go. Only after giving you a taste of my anger, for sure. It will be... excruciating but you will live."

"No, not my son!" she sobbed. Not her little Danny, her little miracle. It was only after decades of happy marriage that they had been finally blessed her with a child. She would never give him up. Never!

"Step aside, little Amy! We'll have time to play later."

"No!" She shielded her son with her body, her tears falling on his mop of blond hair.

"So be it. Avada Kedavra!" The last thing she saw was the green light illuminating the room. The last thought she had was 'Not my son'.

One hour later, joyful whispers spread through the Wizarding World. They spoke about the Dark Lord's fall. They spoke of Daniel Bishop, the Boy-Who-Lived or as was said in certain circles, the Mudblood-Who-Lived.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 700 words, an AU action that changes the outcome of something important in canon


	69. Phoenix

**Phoenix**

The little boy sat under the sill of the frosted window. The thick woollen blanket engulfed his skinny frame yet this didn't stop his shivering. His clammy pale face shone like a beacon in the dark shadows of the orphanage's room.

Suddenly a ball of fire exploded in front of him. He yelped, falling back in the mass of blanket around him. He was about to shout when he saw the most beautiful bird he had ever seen. Its rich red and gold plumage made it seem as if it was on fire. The fiery creature stood regal in the middle of the room's mess yet there was no mistaking that it was still wild. He could see it in those dark eyes.

"Hello," the six-year old said tentatively as he took a step towards the bird.

He raised his hand in askance to pet it. The bird gazed at him, as if judging his very soul. With a final nod, the bird started preening the ruffled feathers. With a rare smile, the boy caressed the soft feathers. He giggled as they tickled against his palm. He marvelled at the beauty of the plumage. He itched to take one but he didn't lest the wild bird attacked him.

'Maybe, one day...' he thought optimistically, coincidentally touching the one feather that would see him rise of the Darkest of Lords as well as the one that would bring his fall.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: any wordcount, a small child wants to pet Fawkes


	70. Six Santas

**Six Santas**

Celebrating Christmas Eve at the Burrow was special. With the Dursleys, Harry celebrated the holiday by waking early and doing the chores that Aunt Petunia heaped on him. The day would be spent aiding her on preparing the feast for the family, putting up the decorations amongst harsh reprimands and scrubbing the house till it satisfied his aunt and uncle (which meant a non-committal nod in his direction). The night would be spent in his cupboard with an occasional gift while listening to Dudley's exclaims of joys and constant whining. Christmas at Hogwarts was as different as it could be. Surrounded by December's snow, the whole castle would be open to him. The day would be spent with Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. He would laugh, shout and smile at their antics while anticipating the gifts waiting for him the next day. Hogwarts was always his home but Christmas Eve at Burrow had always a special place in his heart. Maybe it was the criss-cross of wood structures surrounding him, filled with memories of a happy family or maybe it was the warm air that Molly spread through her home with her cooking and matronly cheer.

Harry balanced Teddy on his knee as he gazed around him. All the Weasleys were squeezed in the narrow kitchen. Fleur and Bill were sitting with the two-year old Victoire. Charlie, who had returned from Romania for the holidays, was chatting with an exuberant Ron and a sighing Hermione about Chudley Cannon. Percy was planning about the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with George. And Ginny was sitting next to him, making faces at a chuckling Teddy.

"Harry?" the three-year old shook his arm to get his attention.

"Yes, Teddy," Harry smiled at his godson. Like every time that Teddy was with him, the boy currently sported messy black locks with eyes as green as his. The Weasleys joked that he was Harry Jr. when he looked like him. Harry just smiled goofily at idea that his godson liked him enough to want to look like him.

"You promised that I could have that one gift I always wanted for Christmas, right?" Teddy said, his characteristic smile drooping.

"Of course. What would you like Santa to bring you this year? Is it that Snitch toy you were looking at?"

"No," the boy's voice was down to a whisper, "I was thinking that if Santa could bring my parents..."

It seemed that despite the whispering tone, everyone heard the little boy. The hush of chats and talks dropped to silence. Harry squirmed uneasily under his godson's green eyes. He raised his head and met the Weasleys' and Hermione's sombre face but he knew he was one who had to answer him.

"Teddy, your parents are currently very far away. They won't be able to come," he answered with a distinct croak in his voice. Had he not wished the same thing over and over years ago?

"Oh, I thought that if I was a good boy..."

"But you are a good boy, a very good boy. But Santa needed good people to help him so he asked your parents to come to help him."

"So my parents are with Santa?"

"Yes. And I'm sure he's telling them what a good boy you are."

"You think Santa would come to meet me and tell me about my parents?" the excitement crept back in his godson's voice.

"Of course, he will." Everyone turned to look at Molly standing at the doorstep. Her brimming eyes told everyone that she had heard everything. "I'm sure Santa would love to meet Teddy, wouldn't he?"

Molly looked at his children, who despite being grown-ups, nodded vigorously under her quelling look.

"Harry!" Teddy jumped in his lap, "Santa's coming to meet me!"

Harry laughed as he tickled his godson and the cheer returned back in the Burrow's kitchen.

* * *

"Are you sure they are coming?" Harry asked Molly as she hovered over the oven, looking at the roasting chicken.

"Yes, they told me that they would be here by seven."

Harry nodded before turning to Teddy was more playing with his food than eating it. It was already half past six and none of the Weasleys, except Molly and Arthur, were to be seen. Even Hermione was missing. He knew that everyone had made plan to celebrate the Christmas Eve at the Burrow. Keeping an eye on his godson, he helped Arthur set the table in the garden in front of the house.

"Harry!"

He dropped the plates on the table and rushed back inside only to have Teddy jump in his arms.

"Harry!" his godson squealed, "It's Santa!"

Indeed, Harry turned and saw a white-bearded man dressed in red suit appearing in the fireplace, accompanied by a beaming Fleur and sleeping Victoire.

"Hello, Santa," Harry grinned at Bill, while Teddy hid behind his legs.

"Hello Harry and hello, little Teddy," the Curse-Breaker knelt in front of the hiding boy and held a wrapped gift. "My elves told me that you wanted to meet me."

Teddy nodded shyly while everyone chuckled.

"Why don't we step in the kitchen and have everyone something to drink?"

But before they could move, the green fire in the fireplace flared again and out stepped...

"Santa?" Teddy echoed everyone's wonder and disbelief as a second Santa appeared in the Weasley's living room, this time with a humongous stuffed green dragon clutched in his arms.

"Ho Ho...oh!"

"Harry!" Teddy looked at him, "There are two Santas!"

"Yes, I see that," Harry mumbled and in a steadier voice, he announced, "I guess, that's the... Romanian Santa?"

"Yes, yes!" Charlie nodded, before placing the stuffed dragon next to the wrapped gift, "My reindeer told me that there was a really good boy looking for a Santa and that apparently the British Santa was busy. So here I came." Turning to Bill, he whispered, "You told me that you couldn't find a costume."

"Fleur conjured one. She have apparently met one before," Bill whispered back.

"And you didn't tell me."

"Forgot about it..." the eldest brother mumbled back.

"So Teddy," Harry tried to distract his godson from the whispering Santas, "now, you have two gifts. What do you say?"

"Thank y-"

Teddy stopped as the green light of the fireplace flared again and out stepped...

"Santa?"

"Oh no!" Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as a third Santa stepped in the living room. It was a typical Santa – red suit with white beard, an assortment of wrapped gifts in his hand as well as a jarring horn-rimmed glasses.

"I guess that's the Ministerial Santa," Charlie joked, breaking the uneasy silence.

"So we have three Santas?" Teddy asked, his huge green eyes looking around the room.

"Yes, it seems that the whole... Santa-sphere heard about the good boy who wanted to meet us and so we came," Percy said, "Here's you gift – the whole set of A Complete Compendium to Chaos Management."

"Comp – Compydien?" the little boy said as he lifted the rather heavy gift.

"It's a set of books," Harry said as he helped him set the gift next to the stuffed dragon. "I guess now that all three Santas are here we can-"

Though he spoke too quickly for the fireplace flared green again and out stepped...

"Santa?"

Though this one wasn't a typical Santa – unless Santa dressed in bright orange suit with pink beard. The psychedelic boots didn't help either.

"I guess that's the fourth Santa," Harry sighed.

"I see that my fellow Santas have already arrived," George said casually, as if he already expected to find other Santas in the living room. Knowing his pranking streak, Harry was sure that he probably did.

Giving the Teddy a huge box branded Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, George ruffled his messy locks. "Every Santa's looking for the cute boy called Teddy. Have you met him?"

"It's me!" Teddy said rather excitedly.

"So it's true then. You are a cute one."

"So, Prankster Santa, should we be expecting more to come?" Bill asked somewhat tiredly.

"I guess, yes, the next one should be here any minute."

As if it was the cue, the fireplace flared green again and out stepped...

"Santa?"

It seemed like a deja-vu as everyone turned to look at the new arrival. Though, this one was as different as one could be. For one, he was wearing a robe – a proud Gryffindor shade. The beard was more like Dumbledore's than Santa's. And there was Chudley Canon hat (that Harry had gifted him in Fourth Year) instead of the usual red bonnet.

"Oi! What are you lot doing here?"

"We came here to meet Teddy," Charlie answered, with a subtle nod towards the little boy who seemed in awe at all the various Santas surrounding him.

"Oh."

"I didn't know that Santa was a wizard!" Harry asked, taking in Ron's attire.

"That's because he's not," Hermione (who had just arrived) answered with a huff.

"He is!" Ron answered back, "He has elves! He wear Gryffindor red robes-"

"It's a suit!"

"- he has flying reindeer and he entered houses through fireplaces!"

"He goes through chimneys!"

"So are you the Wizarding Santa?" Teddy asked, taking in the new arrival.

"Yes, and here's your gift. You're going to need it at your next Chudley Cannon match," Ron beamed while everyone else rolled their eyes. It seemed that unable to convince to anyone else, Ron had taken upon himself to convert the new generation to the Chudley Cannon side. Harry had saw him trying to buy a whole Chudley-themed set of rather garish dolls for Victoire. But when Harry reminded him of Fleur's temper, he decided to wait for a few more years.

"I guess we have a last Santa to go," Harry said with rather heavy heart as he looked around. Ginny was missing. He really hoped that she didn't come disguised as an old fat man. The Weasleys would never stop teasing him about that.

As if hearing his thoughts, the fireplace flared green again and out stepped...

"Santa?" Teddy asked again and this time, everyone echoed his disbelief. For the one who had arrived was surely not the traditional Santa. Clad in a rather short and slim-fitted red dress lined with white fur, it was surely no old man. The flowing red hair and the absence of any sign of beard (white or otherwise) made a jarring difference from the other five Santas in the living room. A wide smile on his lips, Harry had never thought that a Santa costume could have such an effect on him.

"Are you supposed to be Santa?" Hermione asked in wonder.

"No, I'm Santa's personal assistant... Ranta!" Ginny said, taking a look around her, "Though, I guess there are already other Santas here..."

"I assure you that you are as welcome," Harry grinned at Ginny who smiled back (while George made gagging signs behind her).

"Hello, little Teddy," Ginny knelt in front of the boy, "Here's a little gift for you." She handed him a wrapped present which Harry placed next to the towering pile of gifts.

"I guess this is it?" Bill said as he looked around.

"I hope so," Harry mumbled. He didn't think any more Santa would be able to squeeze in the Burrow's living room. "Don't forget to thank the Santas, Teddy."

"Thank you very much," Teddy said shyly at the different Santas around him, which was met with coos, ruffles and pats.

"We should move to the garden before Molly and Arthur come looking for us," Hermione said. Everyone agreed and moved out in the garden which was now lit with floating orbs and fairy lights. A whole feast rested on the huge table. Sitting between a laughing Teddy and a smiling Ginny, Harry looked at the weird sight of different Santas sitting around the table. Yes, Christmas at Burrow was indeed special.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 2000 words, celebrating a holiday


	71. You're a squib, Harry

**You're a squib, Harry**

Harry always knew that he was different from his relatives. He wasn't like Uncle Vernon – a large beefy wizard who worked for a shop named Grunnings, which made magical clocks. He wasn't like Aunt Petunia, whose nasty potions were notorious amongst the gossipping neighbours of Privet Drive. When Dudley turned his teacher's wig blue for failing him, Harry was scorned for not being as 'powerful' as his precious cousin. When Dudley apparated to the school's roof while chasing Harry, the latter was insulted for being 'weak' for not being to keep up. Harry always knew he was different but he didn't know how much until a gentle half-giant broke into the shack and said those famous words:

"You're a squib, Harry."

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: any wc, featuring a squib


	72. James

James

There is no set emotion one goes through when one holds one's son for the first time. There's obviously that warm joy that encompasses your whole being at the sight of your child. There's awe of having created this little life, of having brought him on earth. And there's that fierce protectiveness that rushes through your veins. The mere idea of someone or something trying to hurt this delicate little baby, your little baby... it makes you want to hold him against your chest for the rest of the time. And along with that there's that ball of dread bubbling in your stomach? What if you are the one who ends up hurting this sweet little baby. What if you end up being an awful father? What if you don't know how to deal with dirty diapers or hours of patient rocking in the middle of the night?

No one had ever told Harry what it was like to be as a father, what to expect... He had lost his father when he was only one. The closest person he had was Arthur, but he was his father-in-law, not his father. He had Sirius and Remus but he had lost both of them during the war. And Uncle Vernon definitely didn't count. So he still remembers the day he entered that room in St Mungos. Ron was by his side, his face as smiling and as serious as his. Hermione hugged him tightly and tearfully before moving to Gnny's side. And Ginny... she remained there, utterly exhausted but so radiant. And then they handed him his son, his first son. And it was like suddenly finding part of him that he never knew he had lost before. It was more than the feeling of first waving his wand, it was more than the feeling of the Elder Wand against his palm. It was... learning to breathe, learning to live all over again.

Harry still remembers that fragile little baby pressed against his Auror uniform. He can still hear that cutest little yawn that brought the largest smile on his own face. He can still see those clenched little fists waving in front of him. And that was the moment he knew that he would happily give up the world, give up his whole life for his child. He would move mountains for him, he would walk to the other side of the world for him, he would stand against the fiercest of monsters for him... That was the moment that he understood how his parents had stood against Voldemort, accepting death just so that their child could live. He never knew when the tears sprung in his eyes and fell to his arms. Maybe it was the son inside him remembering the lost parents, maybe it was the father inside him having finally found his son. He chuckled as Ron awkwardly tried to give him a one armed hug.

"James," he announced, "his name is James."

This brought another round of heartfelt congratulations and hugs which left Harry smiling like a loon. Though the smile did falter when he turned to Ginny.

"I'm sorry. I know we haven't decided on any name yet but-"

"It's perfect," she smiled back, the pride shining bright in her eyes. "He's obviously. James. You remember the number of tantrums he had in my belly whenever I had bacon."

"Thank you," Harry smiled back.

"I love you."

"I love you too," Harry said before looking down at his son sleeping in his arms. "And i love you too."


	73. What Could Have Been

**What Could Have Been**

Harry was happy. He truly was. A proud smile bloomed on his lips as he watched Albus soundly kiss a grinning Scorpius in front of the church in Godric's Hollow. The father chuckled when a hiccoughing Malfoy heir blushed at his pouting son before smirking and kissing him back as soundly. After months of frantic planning and preparations, here they were – the newly-wed Potter-Malfoy. They had fought for their joys and dreams and today, they have finally won. Harry had witnessed their long journey – the agnostic eleven-year old roommates, the hesitant twelve-year old friends, the boisterous thirteen-year old best mates, the blushing fifteen-year old crushes, the defiant sixteen-year old boyfriends, the beaming eighteen-year old fiancees and now, the married twenty-year old husbands. He had been there when Albus fought against the Weasleys after they had berated him for dating a Malfoy. He had been there when Scorpius stood toe-to-toe against Lucius, fire in his clenched fist and ice in his narrowed eyes, for the sake of his love. He had been there when the two withstood the numerous whispers in Diagon Alley and the unending accusations in Daily Prophet. The two had braved the world for their their love and Harry could never begrudge them their bliss.

Yet, he couldn't ignore the part of him that stung in envy. Behind his genuine smile lurked the bitter aftertaste of a haunting regret as genuine. No matter how much he wanted, he couldn't stop the ghosts of his past whispering in his mind. It was uncanny how much Albus resembled his twenty-year old self – the same messy black locks, the same green eyes, the same crooked grin... Only Harry couldn't recall a time he had laughed so openly, so freely. And with the platinum blond hair, pale grey eyes and Malfoy signature pointed face, Scorpius looked like Draco's clone, rather than his son. Harry's heart clenched as the sight of the happy couple in front of him, a vision of what could have been. It felt like he was eleven again and standing in front of the Mirror of Erised and looking at something he would never achieve. A crazy part of him wondered if he extended his hand, would he find the hot summer's air or the mirror's cold touch? Could it have been Draco and him, instead of Scorpius and Albus? Maybe if they had fought against the Wizarding Society instead of letting others shape them according to their expectation... Maybe, if they actually believed in their dreams, in their love... Maybe, if Harry had been a little bit more brave. Wasn't ironic that his son, his only Slytherin child, was braver than he, Harry Potter, the Golden Gryffindor? Maybe if he had indeed let the Sorting Hat place him in Slytherin...

"The Nargles seem to have infested the air around you." Luna's voice broke Harry's trance. He merely nodded as she slipped in the seat beside him. She was almost forty yet she had never lost that dreamy look. He smiled as her huge blue eyes gazed at the absent clouds.

"Do you ever feel lonely?" Harry's smile faded at the question when the blue eyes lowered and met his. For a moment, the signature dreaminess was replaced with a sisterly understanding. He knew that she saw and understood much more than others thought.

"No," Harry lied. He couldn't utter the truth. He couldn't. He feared that if he ever said the truth out loud, everything he had lost, everything he had let slipped through his fingers, would become real.

Harry turned his eyes away from the protuberant blue ones and met Draco's grey ones. His mouth dried as he saw the same haunting regret behind those eyes. Beneath that proud smile lurked a grief as heavy as his own. Harry rose from his seat and left – pointedly looking away from the laughing couple under the flowery arch and painfully ignoring the growing pain in his chest.

* * *

Written for Hogwarts Games – Round 1

Prompts: (dialogue) "Do you ever feel lonely?", (word) frantic, (action) hiccoughing, (location) Godric's Hollow, (genre) Romance

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 600 words minimum, can be anything.


	74. Draco Hates Potter

**Draco Hates Potter**

"I hate him," Draco's voice slurred, his half-lidded eyes gazing absently at the roof. Pansy wondered how she found herself in this dingy grimy pub with her completely wasted friend. She really hoped that he dozed off shortly. It would be far easier to sneak him back to his apartment.

"Hate who?" Blaise asked innocently, before taking a sip of his usual pint of Guinness. Pansy glared at him with as much venom as she could but only got a wink and smirk in return. She swore that the bastard was a staunch masochist. Now, Draco would launch in another hour-long rant about-

"Potter!" Draco yelled, trying to stand before falling back to his seat. His bloodshot eyes, now wide open, remained fixed on them. "Who else but the bloody perfect Potter? 'Oh look at me, I'm the precious Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen one, the Saviour of the whole Wizarding World. Look how handsome I am, how sexy I look when I walk down Diagon Alley!'"

"Such a perfect portrayal of Potter," Blaise smirked at Draco's high-pitched imitation while Pansy drowned her Vodka before asking for another. There was no way she was going through this sober, not after having lived through the same shit for seven years at Hogwarts.

"I hate his messy hair that looks like a bird's nest, a soft nest that makes you want to run your fingers through it. I hate those damned green eyes. I hate how each time I stare at them, I seem to forget how to breathe. Must have placed some asphyxiating spell on them, that bloody bastard" Draco moved his hands emphatically, his drink spilling over the poor guys at the next table. Pansy carefully scooted away from the glass' range. Her dress was the latest from Gladrags. "I hate how he always dresses like some sort of rag-muffin. What's up with those fitting shirts? Do we need to see those perfect abs? And I hate those tights pants that make his arse so irresistible."

Pansy choked on her drink while Blaise snorted. "Yes, I always note the irresistible arse of the person I hate," the Italian guy added with an eye-roll.

"Would you like another _Ivre de Veela_?" the barman asked, eyeing her wasted and ridiculously overpriced drink.

"Yes, please," she answered before turning to Draco who was very unsuccessfully trying to stand.

"_Ivre de Veela_," the blond-haired Slytherin snorted (which came out like an uncharacteristic bark). "Potter has Veelas too. Saw them kiss him in front of the whole school. Hate the whole bunch of them. That Weaslette kissed him too. Granger probably kissed him too. Don't blame them. I would have kissed him too if he was my friend."

"Thank Merlin, I'm not his friend then," Blaise muttered before Pansy kicked him in his shins.

"But he didn't want to be my friend, did he?" Draco continued, his voice reduced to a mere mumble. "Refused to take my hand in that stupid First Year. I hate First Year. I hate Potter too. Perfect Potter who hates the stupid foolish Malfoy."

Pansy watched as he laid his head on the table, the spilt drink seeping in his dishevelled hair. She sighed, putting down her empty glass. "That's it then. We need to get you back to your apartment."

She turned to Blaise who merely shrugged and stood up to pay the tab. She helped Draco to his feet and walked him outside the pub. She grit her teeth as the blond kept swaying and mumbling words.

"You really need to lose some weight, Draco," she hissed, almost skidding on the snow-laden pavement.

"Need a hand?"

Had she not been a Slytherin, she would have surely cried at the whole unfairness of the situation. Of all the persons she could have stumbled upon, it had to be Potter.

"No thanks," she turned her head and sneered the scrawny Gryffindor standing beside her. "Now just leave before-"

"Potter?" Draco slipped out of her grasp and turned to the standing Gryffindor.

"-Draco finds out."

"Malfoy?" Potter noted, rather stupidly, his wide eyes staring at the Slytherin.

"Of course, it's Perfect Potter. Came here to laugh at me, didn't you? It doesn't matter because I hate you, you stupid prat. I hate your hair, your eyes, your glasses... I hate that I can't even hate you properly!"

"What?"

And the next moment, Draco had his arms around Potter and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

"Merlin, I'm way too sober for this," Pansy rubbed her forehead.

* * *

Written for Fanfiction World Adventures Competition I

Prompts: (drink) Pint of Guinness ; (location) Pub/Bar ; (plot theme) Someone being/dealing with someone being overly drunk. ; (word) Overpriced

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompts: exactly 777 words, any plot


	75. Remus' Secret

**Remus' Secret**

"Hey Remus, can we talk to you for a moment?" The boy in question turned and saw his three roommates standing rather nervously in front of his bed.

"Yes, sure," he placed his books on the desk and sat on his bed while his friends hesitantly took place on Sirius' bed in front of him. "So?"

"Hmm, we've noticed that you tend to disappear at least once each month," James started slowly, looking everywhere, except at Remus. The third-year's heart leaped at his friend's words. They couldn't have...

"And we know who you are exactly," Sirius continued with a small smile, which turned into a grimace when Remus didn't smile back.

"What did you find out?" He wet his lips as he glanced at the door. If they tried to attack him, maybe he would be able to outrun them... He braced himself for the barbs.

"You're," Sirius said slowly and when the other two nodded, he continued, "a muggle pop-star."

"I'm sor- Wait, what?"

"It makes sense," the Black Heir answered feverishly as he came closer to him. "You said that Dumbledore had to ask permission to let you come here. Obviously, it was because your agent didn't want to let you go. You disappear every month for your concerts. And you come back utterly exhausted with scratches. Your groupie must be wild!"

Remus backed away from the manic glint in his friend's eyes. "Yeah, that's not right."

"Oh."

"I told you it was a stupid theory," James laughed at him.

"Well, it was loads better than yours. Remus isn't a girl!"

Wide-eyed, he looked at his messy-haired who shrank on himself. "It was a great theory," he mumbled, staring at his shoes, "You are always cranky at certain times of the month. You often go to meet Madam Pomfrey for your 'cramps'. And you would sell yourself for chocolate, which is absolutely a girl's sweet."

Remus rubbed his forehead. He had no idea what to say.

"So what is it?" Sirius asked, with the same manic glint. Remus bit his lips as he stared at the three pairs of expectant eyes. Could he tell them? Could he bear to have them so close but to lose them as friends? His heart clenched at the laughs they had shared over the three years. He sighed.

"James's right," he mumbled. "I'm a girl."

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 200 words, any plot


	76. The Theory about Hermione

**The Theory about Hermione**

Dressed in their nightgowns, the two girls sat on the bed, their faces devoid of any smile or laughs. It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that they had no nail polish or skin lotion nearby to distract them.

"So you confirmed it?" Parvati asked Lavender, starting the impromptu meeting.

"Yes, Dean told me that he saw Hermione in Arithmancy during the first period while we knew that she was with us during Divination."

"Hmm," she nodded wisely. "I guess this leads to only one conclusion."

Despite their deceptively airy looks, the two girls knew they had perfect investigative skills. After all, in First Year, had they not solved the mystery of Professor Quirell's turban? It was a clear ruse to distract the Hogwarts population from his utterly gaudy robes. Had it not been for the two of them, he would have succeeded. And in second year, had they not discovered that Professor McGonagall and Filch were in fact lovers? They had been only twelve but they sure noticed the looks he sent to the animagus while he petted the cat in his arms.

"What conclusion?"

"There's only one way Hermione could be at two places at one time, or least make people think that Hermione's at two places," she said with a sigh that spoke highly of her wisdom, "The classic good and evil twins."

"Twins?"

"Of course, while Hermione goes to one class, her twin, dressed as her, goes to the other. It's a classic Bollywood ruse – Seeta aur Geeta, Ram aur Shyam... Too bad for her, I'm an expert in such subjects."

"Wow," Lavender said, her eyes wide as Galleons. "You think all these years, the twin sisters had been here-"

"-and we never noticed. They are definitely smart, but not smart enough for us."

"And it explains her irrational mood swings. They were in fact two different persons!"

"Exactly."

At that point, the door slammed open and in strode a furious Hermione mumbling about 'stupid Ron's rat'.

"What?" she snapped as she caught them staring.

'Evil,' Parvati mouthed to her friend who nodded, rather fearfully.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 200 words, any plot


	77. The Request

The Request

Everything happened so quickly. One moment, everything was fine. His father, Ron Weasley, was enthusiastically talking about the upcoming Chudley Cannon match. His mother, Hermione Weasley-Granger, was humouring him with a few well-placed nods and smiles which buttering the toast. It was a fine Sunday morning, like every other morning in the Weasley house. If only Hugo knew that he would be the one to shatter their daily home bliss...

In a blink, his father's smile faded from his face and was replaced by a stony frown. Hugo watched bemused as he slowly pulled the basket of toast and the jars of jams closer to him. His mother, on the other hand, froze before plastering an obviously fake smile which belied the sheer terror shining in her brown eyes.

"Ron, if the children are insisting, maybe-"

"Hermione, no! There's no way- I can't believe you are even contemplating this. I just can't."

Before anyone could say anything else, he rose from his seat and left like an angry whirlwind of red hair. Hugo squirmed uncomfortably as his mother broke into sobs.

"What happened?" Rose asked, who came in the kitchen after having heard the ruckus.

"I don't know. I just asked if we could go camping."

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 200 words, any plot


	78. He Who Must Not Give Names

**He Who Must Not Give Names**

Harry smiled as he rocked his newborn son in his arms while consulting the recently checked item on his list. He laughed when the baby yawned wide, his little fists waving in the air. He turned to his wife who was smiling at them from the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting next to her before kissing her.

"Fine. The Healers said that I can start walking from tomorrow."

"Great. I was planning to check the next one on my list-"

"Harry, are you sure? I just delivered our newborn son. Can't we do something else? Like build a memorial or plant a tree-"

"Ginny, you know I wouldn't ask you this if I could do otherwise. In fact, the other day, Daphne asked me if-"

"Fine, fine, I'll do it."

* * *

_Nine months later_

Harry grinned as the Healer handed him his new son. He smiled at the wrinkled pink skin and the closed eyes. He wondered if his son would have his green eyes too...

"Dobby Kreacher Potter," he announced to the room while he checked the name on his long list, "named after the two House Elves who helped me when many had abandoned me."

Molly burst into tears at that moment, most probably ecstatic at the idea of having her twenty-fifth grandchild (eighteenth from Ginny). Harry smiled at her before taking his place next to his wife, who laid half-comatose on the bed. He looked around the room and his heart rejoiced at the sight. He watched as Moony Padfoot Potter and Norberta Buckbeak Potter climbed on a harassed Charlie. Ford Anglia was pulling Ron's hair while Griphook had relieved herself on Hermione for the tenth time that day. This... this was his thanks to all those who had helped him at one point or another, his thanks which would live and carry on even when he was gone.

"You know," he said, turning to Ginny, "I realised that I never thanked the places which gave me, an orphan, a true home. I was thinking of naming our next child Burrow Hogwarts Potter. What do you think?"

He watched in surprise as Ginny burst into tears. He had truly forgotten that the Healers warned him against hormonal discrepancies. He shrugged before returning to his list.

'Burrow Hogwarts Potter. It did have a nice sound to it...'

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 200 words, any plot


	79. Beasts

**Beasts**

Standing on the top of the hill, hidden in the shadows of the night, Remus Lupin gazed at the sight in front of him. Multiple little light from the houses basked the village of Ottery St Catchpol beneath him in a warm solace. He could hear the villagers quiet laughs and chat as they moved through their quiet and simple lives. He closed his eyes, wondering how quickly those quiet bustles of life would change in the fearful shrieks of death. His stomach squirmed unpleasantly and his hand tightened around the mask – his Death Eater mask.

He opened his eyes at the familiar sound of apparition. Before long, a sea of wizards dressed in dark robes just like him, appeared around him. His lips tightened at their excited hush of whispers. Remus bit his lip as the wolf inside him roused at the idea of carnage. He stifled the rising thirst of blood; he fought the ravenous hunger for flesh and violence. Blood broke on his lips as the wolf fought for control. The howl bubbled in his throat, clawing its way out. With a loud whimper, he caged the wolf deep inside him. Rising his eyes, he saw Greyback looking at him. He quickly averted his eyes but not before he saw the taunting smirk on those black lips. He ignored the whisper of 'Weakling!' that the wind carried to him.

In matters of minutes, the black-robed Death Eaters covered the hill, like a gigantic wave waiting to befall the quiet village. They were waiting for the leader – the chosen Inner Circle member to lead them tonight. And quick as a flash, the hush of whispers died away as a lone member appeared in front of them. Though each of them could feel the heightened excitation at his sight. For tonight, they would follow him – The Grim.

When Remus had first joined the ranks of Death Eaters, he had quickly learnt that they followed Lord Voldemort out of fear, rather than some sort of perverted loyalty. And Remus understood them. There was nothing more terrifying than those damned red eyes looking at your soul. Yet, there were some members of Inner Circle who commanded a fear as strong and potent. Severus Snape was notorious for his unabashed use of poisons as well as an ingenuity for dark spell-crafting. Lucius Malfoy played the cards of politics with such a skill that it was rumoured that he reduced a Lord to pauper within a day. Bellatrix Lestrange was the insane woman whose path even the staunchest Death Eater scurried away from and whose cackle was synonymous to shrieks of others.

And there was Sirius Black, aka The Grim. There was always that amused cruelty in his grey eyes, that spoke of the famous Black Insanity – a trait he shared with his cousin Bellatrix. But where plain insanity lurked in the woman's eyes, Black's shone with animalistic lack of restraint. And while Bellatrix learnt a trickle of Dark Magic in the shadowed alcoves of Hogwarts, Black mastered the Dark Arts in his seven years at Durmstrang. He was broken, beaten, re-moulded and re-shaped through Durmstrang's Dark Arts. They said that none at Durmstrang learnt the Arts as quick as Sirius and that none of the Blacks knew the Arts like Sirius. He was the heir of House Black, the true Heir.

Remus' eyes followed the lone figure as he strode in front of the crowd. The bone-white mask casually held in his left hand, Black seemed hardly to be on point of leading the Death Eaters to hundreds of deaths. His long wavy black locks billowed in the air. The signature amused smirk adorned his lips while his eyes travelled through the crowd.

"Comrades," Black's voice washed over the dark-robed wizards, after a wandless Sonorus. "It's time. Let's FEAST!"

The thunder-like sound of disapparition resounded through the night as the Death Eaters disappeared from the hill and appeared in the midst of the village. A shriek from a lone woman on the street announced their arrival. Remus watched as chaos descended on the village. Lips devoid of any smile and eyes empty of any joy, he joined his comrades as they ransacked Ottery St Catchpole.

"Protego!" He raised a protective shield, the stray hex bouncing off and fizzing to nothing.

"Bombarda!" he yelled as a man ran towards him, wand high and lit with an upcoming spell.

"Depulso. Protego. Incendio." He twisted, he ducked, he jumped. He danced around the man, batting away his spells. The wolf inside him salivated at the thought of a kill, of violence. He bit away the urge to jump on the man and to bite away his neck. He tore his eyes from the tempting jugular as he swerved away from an approaching curse.

"Depulso." The man jumped away again, the blue spell lost in the shadows of the night. "Bombarda Maxima." The man's eyes went round as the explosion hex approached. Both of them knew what was going to happen. The stranger raised a shield but they knew it would be too weak. Remus turned away the moment when the spell shattered the silver bubble. He flinched as blood and flesh sprayed against his left side while the wolf rejoiced. He wiped away the blood from his hand as quickly as he can, before he lost himself and licked it.

"Still flinching at the sight of blood," a voice taunted him from behind. Remus turned and saw a grinning Greyback, teeth glinting with red.

"I'm not a monster," he answered, yet the words sounded hollow even to himself. Not when he had just killed a man in cold blood. He couldn't blame his Sire as he laughed.

"Yet you are here."

"Because I had no choice," a growl crept in his voice, his wolf urging him for a fight, a real fight.

"But you had a choice," Greyback answered in his usual taunting voice. "To join us... or to die."

Remus snarled at man but before he could jump on him, Greyback had already pushed him to the ground and walked away. Rising to his feet, he joined the Death Eaters, mindlessly killing and maiming. His hands raised on instinct, hex and curses spoken before he would even think. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spied as an indifferent Black walked through the crowd. No, he strolled through the crowd. His wand might as well have been the quill a bored student was fiddling with while sleeping in Binns' class. No words were ever uttered as approaching enemies fell at his feet, some dismembered and others mutated. Each of his victim went to death as a monster, a beast. His grey eyes would amusedly take in the sight of each one before felling the next.

Remus surreptitiously followed him as he entered a house. He raised his wand, alert for any spell. At the sound of soft words, he climbed upstairs. Entering the bedroom, he froze at the sight. Black was sitting regally on the bed, wand discarded to the side. At his feet laid a familiar cowering figure – Professor Henry, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts.

"Oh, please enter, Lupin," Black beckoned him inside. "I guess you recognise Professor Henry. He's the reason I so eagerly undertook this raid. After all, we go way back."

The man snivelled harder, clutching the broken pieces of his wand. His hair remained unkempt and ruffled, as if he had just been dragged by his hair. Remus found himself unable to breathe as the sight of the prim and proper teacher reduced to such weakness.

"You do remember the last time we met, Professor," Black said casually, as if talking about the weather. And the next moment, his face transformed in a beastly snarl. "What was it that you said? Oh yes. 'Albus, the boy's not worth the trouble. Just let him go.'"

"Please," the man pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Professor. You're not worth the trouble. It's just time to let you go." And with a mere wave of his hand, Black ripped out the teacher's tongue. Remus turned and fled, the man's screams chasing his steps. He jumped in the fight in the next head. He drowned the screams with loud hexes and curses. His victims fell quick and silent, his heart pathetically comforting him for his merciful quick deaths.

And when the carnage was over and the pop of disapparition resounded through the burning village, he finally raised his head and looked at the quaint little cottage where the teacher used to live. His heart squirmed at the blood painting the window on the first floor. He lowered his eyes and saw an amused Black strolling through the Death Eaters casually.

* * *

Remus stood inside the Hall of Parkinson's Manor. The Death Eaters were spread through the room while cowering Healers attended them. He smiled as a young wraith-like Healer approached him, though the smile turned in a grimace when the man's eyes fearfully roamed over the blood covered his dark robes.

"Blood-replenishing Potion," the Healer stuttered, handing him a few vials. "Pepper-Up and Pain Relieving Potions too."

But before he could grab them, a large hand took the vials away.

"Weaklings are always healed last in the pack," Greyback snarled at him while the young Healer fled away.

Remus bit back the growl and walked away. He pushed past the loitering Death Eaters and escaped to the gardens outside. He winced as the night's chilly air bit his bloodied face. He took shelter under one of the huge trees, biting back a groan as his bruised back rested against the trunk.

"Remus Lupin."

Remus turned and watched as Black joined him under the tree, the moonlight lighting up his pale face. His eyes roamed over the chiseled cheekbones, the aristocratic nose, the pale delicate lips... Who would have thought a beast hid behind this pretty face?

"I have to say that I never thought to find a Gryffindor here."

"You were a Gryffindor, too."

Remus' eyes widened as the words burst through his lips. Everyone knew that his Hogwarts Sorting was a sore point with Black. He tensed, his wand in his grip, awaiting a curse in reply. But to his surprise, the grey-eyed man laughed out loud.

"I guess, I am. For only one day, but yes, I guess I was a Gryffindor."

* * *

_"Sirius Black," the eleven-year old boy offered a hand as he joined him on the boat._

_"Remus Lupin," he smiled tentatively, taking the hand._

_"My uncle Alphard told me that there's a Giant Squid in here," the boy said with a contagious excitement, "Do you think we can call him? Or if we dive in?"_

_"I don't know." The idea of a Giant Squid was intriguing but not enough to jump in the inky black lake._

_"I'm sure it would a great way to start Hogwarts," the boy continued, gazing at the lake as if seriously considering jumping in to meet the Giant Squid._

* * *

Remus blinked as he stared at the man in front of him. How could that boisterous cheerful boy grow in this cruel man?

"But still," Black continued, breaking Remus out of his thoughts, "I spent barely one day as Gryffindor before my father pulled me out and dragged me to Durmstrang. But you're here even after having spent seven years as a Gryffindor."

"Less than three years." Remus announced without any expression. Sirius raised an eyebrow in reply. "In my Third Year, my roommates learnt that I was a werewolf. One of them, Pettigrew, couldn't stand it and told everyone. And I was expelled. I had to choice to join Greyback's pack."

"A werewolf, huh?" Remus could see the awe in his grey eyes roaming over his frame. It was the first time that his reveal wasn't met by pity or fear. He didn't know what to make of it.

"I'm a monster."

"Aren't we all?"

"Humans aren't meant to be such beasts! It's our control that makes us who we are."

"No, it's our complications, our greed, our sins that make us who we are. A beast's life is so much easier, so liberating, so exhilarating!" Remus backed from the manic glint in Black's eyes.

"You don't understand what it's like to live with such a monster, a beast inside."

Black laughed, looking at Remus as if he had just made a joke. The werewolf squirmed at the amused response to his reply. "I don't understand? I don't understand what it's like to live with a beast inside."

The laughs resounded through the ground while Black walked away. And suddenly, he stopped and so did the laughs. A moment of still reigned before Black snarled and jumped at him. Remus moved his wand but froze mid-action as the man transformed in the jump. A huge Grim stood where Black should have landed. Remus's breath ran ragged as he stared at the huge monster. He had no doubt he was staring at a Grim. The scholar in him recognised the pitch black eyes, omen of imminent death and the abnormally large snout. But he also knew that before him stood no mere Grim. He took in the snarling fangs, the huge stature, the bristling as dark as the night fur... He wondered if the Dark Arts had instinctively transformed his inner Animagus or if Black deliberately transmuted his own animagus form through Dark Rituals.

The last time Remus had felt such a fear in front of a beast, he was only five and was bitten by Greyback. He knew that the animal in front of him was no less dangerous than a werewolf, if not more. He took a step back as the Grim approached him, growling loudly. The wolf inside him roused from sleep and growled back inside his chest.

Remus rolled away as the monster jumped towards. His wand went scattering to the side, lost in the shadows of the night. He jumped to his feet and ran. The noise of shattering branches and answering growls told him that his predator wasn't far. The wolf inside him urged him to fight and his slim control over the beast slowly slipped through his hands. The Grim crashed against him, sending both of them sprawling to the grounds. At his yell of agony, the wolf burst free and Remus half-transformed When the Grim jumped him, a clawed hand batted him away. The werewolf licked his lips as the huge animal walked around him. He could understand the challenge in the growls and answered with a vicious snarl. The Grim jumped against and this time, Remus jumped too. His elongated fangs bit the animal's hind legs before he was pushed to the ground. Bruises littered his body but he didn't care, not when faced with an adversary.

And so the night passed. The two beasts chased each other, snarled, growled, challenging each other. It had been a long time since Remus had let the wolf out for so long on a non-full moon night. For the first time, he realised how simple life was when he was transformed, how simple was the life of the beast.

When the dawn broke, a bruised Sirius transformed and walked away, his chuckles resounding behind him while Remus remained on the ground, struggling to cage back the wolf. The horror increased inside him as he realised how he had lost control of himself.

* * *

The next months, Remus steadily avoided Black. He would see him staring at him with that amused smirk, he would turn back. But no matter where he was – manors, forests, cities – he would always feel those grey eyes pouring in his back. After that encounter, his wolf had been more difficult to tame. It would always feel close to his skin, on the point to take over at mere extreme emotions. But Remus always pushed him back... until the fateful night.

* * *

Remus closed his eyes, biting away the snarl as Greyback pressed him against the tree. The large hands tightened around his throat while the wolf inside him urged him to fight, to challenge the Alpha. He could do it. Remus shook his head. He ignored the jeers from the crowd around them.

"Weakling!"

And like the burst of a dam, the wolf took over him. His hair lengthened, claws appeared on his hands and his fangs changed to wolves'. He growled at the shocked face of his Sire. Before the latter could move, he jumped on him, jaws wide open. They tumbled through the ground, biting and scratching each other. The crowd cheered at the fight, they cheered at the first blood, they cheered when Greyback was thrown against the tree.

The Alpha rose but before he could move away, Remus jumped, his jaws aiming for the jugular. Warm blood filled his mouth while the wolf rejoiced at the victory. After so long, he felt pride coursing through him as he watched the fallen Alpha gasping for his final breaths. Yes, maybe, Black was right. Life as a beast was indeed simpler. For the first time, he didn't stifle the wolf inside him.

Remus rose his head and saw a pair of grey eyes in the cheering crowd. Black winked at him with his signature amused smirk.

Remus grinned back, his fangs glinting with blood.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompt: 1400 words, action genre, no prewrittens allowed.


	80. Happy New Year

**Happy New Year**

Sirius chuckled as James rose from his seat for the sixth time before sitting down again. It was the New Year's Eve with only ten minutes left till midnight. Most of the Gryffindors were staying in the castle due to the increasing activities of the Death Eaters in the outside world. Hence, the Common Room was rather packed, filled with the students' boisterous laughs and chats. He saw Evans and McKinnon sitting with the Sixth-Year Girls. The Prewitt twins had someone managed to smuggle some Zonko's Finest Magical Fireworks and had accidentally set one off. Sirius laughed as the fiery (but harmless) dragon dived towards the shrieking Second-Years.

"For Melin's Sake," Remus said beside him. "James, what's going on?"

James sheepishly turned towards them. "I was thinking of asking Evans if I could kiss her at midnight."

"I don't know, Prongs," Sirius teased, scooting closer to his friend. "I don't think it will be a great idea to start the New Year in the Hospital Wing."

"Yes, the last time was enough," Remus added.

"But I want to. It's New Year. It will be romantic and girls love these sort of stuff. And the most important thing is that I get to kiss Evans!"

"Prongs, the only thing you'll get to kiss is the sole of her feet as she crushes your face."

"So you think I got a chance?" James smiled, rather crazily, running his hand through his hair.

"I think you should stay here, Prongs. She'll hex you bits again if you kiss her without asking her. What about you, Padfoot?" Remus turned to him. "Going to kiss someone at midnight?"

"I don't know," the Black Heir averted his eyes. "I have someone in mind but... I don't know." How could he? How could he kiss his friend at midnight? Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Remus staring at him. Did he suspect anything? Mayb he did. He was smart. He was funny too, after all he was a Marauder. He was kind too, always ready to help the annoying First- and Second-Years. He was responsible too, the only one amongst the Marauders. He didn't know when he fell for his close. He didn't even know why he did. He just did. He found himself staring at him longer than usual. He would always notice how his amber eyes would shine when laughing at a prank or how they would darken when he was lost in bad memories. He noticed Remus' rumbling laughs, his musky and very pleasant scent... The werewolf even started cropping up in his dreams, almost every night.

"Is it McKinnon?" James said brightly, "Because then we can end up in the Hospital Wing together! It will be fun."

"No, it's not her."

"So who is she?"

"He, it's a he," Sirius corrected. It was no news amongst his friends, or even Hogwarts that Sirius batted for both team.

"He's a Gryffindor, right?" Remus frowned. "Because if no, you'll have to run to make to the other Common Rooms."

"Yes, he's Gryffindor," Sirius pocketed his hands in his sweater, to hide their shaking from nervousness.

TEN!

"Is it the Prewitt twins? Or one of them?" James said, absolutely resolved of finding out Sirius' crush.

"No," Sirius shook his head.

NINE

"It isn't Benjy, is it?" Remus said, rather heatedly. "Because that cheating bastard doesn't deserve an-"

"No, no, not him."

EIGHT

"Galfred?"

"No."

SEVEN

"One of the Fourth-Years? Or Third Years?"

"Ew, Prongs, no!"

SIX

"That's black-haired Fifth-Year who smells like sandalwood?"

"No! I hate sandalwood."

FIVE

"Marvin? I mean, he's a prat but-"

"No, definitely no."

FOUR

"Is he in our Year?" Remus asked hesitantly, his eyes widening.

"Hmm," Sirius wet his lips, staring at his shoes. "Yes."

THREE

"Is it Peter?"

"No!"

TWO

"OMG! Padfoot? You're in love with me? I can't kiss you! Evans will never forgive me if-"

"It's not you, you twat!"

ONE

"This leaves... me." Remus whispered.

Sirius turned towards him and saw the wide amber eyes staring at him, almost frozen in shock.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The black-haired Gryffindor grabbed his friend and kissed him. It was just like he expected. He wrapped his arms the strong hair. He caressed the slender neck. Fireworks burst above him. Strong arms surrounded him while many whistled and cat-called amongs the New Year cheers. He really didn't want to let go but scared of suffocating his friend, he finally broke away.

"Happy New Year, Moony."

"Happy New Year, Sirius."

"Happy New Year, you lucky bastards!" James jumped on them, sent all three sprawling to the ground.

"Happy New Year to you, Prongs," the two said together and burst out in laughter.


	81. The Dark Lord's Woes

**The Dark Lord's Woes**

"Are you feeling unwell, My Lord?" Lucius asked hesitantly, almost scared of the answer. For the umpteenth time, he thought of the day he had gotten that accursed letter, summoning him to the newly resurrected Dark Lord. If he had known how... distorted this new version of his Lord would have been, he would set the parchment on fire and ran to France. How happy he had been, how utterly stupid he had been...

* * *

_Lucius grasped the thick yellow parchment. His eyes darted over the familiar calligraphy written with emerald green ink. If the choice of words, the veiled threats hadn't already told him about the writer, the thick potent dark aura drenching the parchment would have been enough. His Lord was back! His plan to bring back the Dark Lord through the diary was a success. So giddy was he in his joy that he failed to notice the small pink hearts lining the page._

* * *

"Unwell, Lucius?" Lord Voldemort's soft yet stricken voice echoed through the hollow chamber. The sixteen-year old Dark Lord rose from his throne, his half-lidded red eyes absently gazing at the walls. The thick melancholic air enveloped him like the folds of his dark silk robes and his skin was so pale that one would think he was the embodiment of the historical portrait of a tragic hero. "Unwell is my heart, my friend."

Lucius recently learnt that the diary had in fact contained a sliver of the Dark Lord's soul. To be resurrected, he had to absorb part of Ginny Weasley's soul to be complete, to seize his real power. But the merging of a prepubescent twelve year old girl's soul with that of a sixteen-year old angsty boy had the most... unexpected results.

"Would a Pain-Reliever Potion be enough, My Lord?" Lucius winced as the sarcastic words left Severus' words. Indeed, the very next moment, the Potions Master was writhing on the floor, screaming under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Mock me not, Severus!" the Dark Lord said in the most dramatic way Lucius had ever seen. And that was saying something since he had lived in proximity of an angsty teen Severus in the past. "I don't know what to do and I need your counsel. It's about Harry Potter."

Lucius really hoped that he managed to silence the whimper crawling in his throat. Through the corner of his eyes, he saw Severus muttering something under his breath – probably praying for infinite patience or maybe a quick death. No matter how different had the two souls have been, they shared one common obsession – Harry Potter. And now merged together, obsession seemed to be an understatement.

"Like I told before, when I first saw him in the Chamber, for a moment, I really thought of killing him. It would have been so easy. I could have called the Basilisk. I would have murdered him with his own wand. But I didn't. Or rather, I couldn't when facing through beautiful defiant green eyes. Eyes so green that the angels would have wept at their sight." Lucius felt Severus swaying by his side, as if on the point of fainting. "And I couldn't kill him. So I let him go but yet I couldn't. For those eyes still lurk within my sight. They call for me at night and whisper to me during the day."

The Dark Lord's voice washed over Lucius as the latter stood still. Somewhere deep inside him, he realised that it was like listening to the angsty rant of a teen child. If said child could, of course, turn and shamelessly kill you at the merest displeasure. Merlin, he would disown Draco the moment the latter even spoke of teenage drama.

"Maybe you love him," Goyle's gruff voice ended the uncomfortable silence. Severus swayed more than ever.

The Dark Lord's eyes widened, momentarily looking like the mere boy he was. "Maybe... maybe I do." Severus finally fainted but no one paid him any attention.

"You need to woo him, to formally court him." Goyle nodded at Crabbe's suggestion while Lucius mentally face-palmed. Of all the points these two had to open their troll-like mouth, it had to be now and with such disastrous consequences. But Dark Lord would surely not cou-

"I believe I will," Lord Voldemort announced with a small smirk.

Suddenly, Severus' position on the floor seemed to be extremely enviable. If it meant escaping this weird lovestruck drama scene... Lucius never realised when darkness overtook his senses and he sprawled to the ground.

* * *

Written for Fanfiction World Adventures Competition I

Prompts: (word) Historical, (device) Flashback, (word) Proximity

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2

Prompts: 600 words, Death Eaters have a conversation with Voldemort


	82. Bitten

**Bitten**

Draco Malfoy crouched behind the wall, listening for any sign that would betray the presence of his enemy. His heart raced in his chest as he carefully cradled his injured hand in his lap. Inspecting the wound closer, he softly swore at the clear traces of teeth on his soft fair skin. That monster scarred his unblemished skin! Draco grit his teeth, mentally going through various scenarios of revenge. The one with blood-thirst unicorns and violent pygmy puffs sounded very interesting...

"Draco?"

The blond-haired boy jumped in the air as the voice spoke near his ear. His skill of rooting out the enemy was clearly rusted. Gone were the days when he could sniff out a mere shiver without even looking at his schoolmates. Draco turned and almost melted in relief at the sight of his saviour - Harry Potter. But of course, he didn't give in to complacency for his foolish obtuse boyfriend was carrying that infernal monster - Teddy Lupin.

"Dwaco!" the little monster mocked him, his hair turning as pale as his. Draco bared his teeth at his impudence.

"What happened now?" Harry asked, exasperation clear in his voice.

"Your godson bit me!" Draco wailed, shoving his injured hand in Harry's face.

"He's teething!"

"He scarred me! Now I'm going to be ugly. You're going to hate me, as much as Teddy already hates me."

"I won't hate you. And you know that Teddy likes you."

"He hates me. Why else would he bit me?"

But Harry merely smiled at him before kissing him. The protests died on Draco's lips at Harry's mere touch. And then, the black-haired Gryffindor bit his lower lip. "You see," Harry added huskily. "We, Marauders, bit only those that we love. Teddy loves you. And you did see the marks of how much I love you, right?"

Draco cursed the blush creeping up his cheeks. How could he forget the sight of purple love bites covering his pale body this morning?

"Barbaric Gryffindors," Draco mumbled, though he couldn't hide the wide smile trying to cover his bitten lip.


	83. Black Runespoor

**Black Runespoor**

A long time ago, in a far-off dark jungle, there lived three snake sisters whose notoriety was legendary in the Wizarding World. Known as the Black Sisters or even the Black Runespoor, they had shared the same egg prior to their birth and now lived within the same scaly body. No seams or borders marked where one's scales started and the others' ended. Yet for all their familial and physical bonds, the three sisters never saw eye-to-eye and ended up bickering more often than never.

One day, they came across a Dark Lord – one of immense magical power as well as the famed skill of Parseltongue. The wizard was a highly ambitious man and his cunning knew no bounds. Recognising the notorious sisters, he sought to possess their power. So, he offered each sister a boon so that he could bind them to him.

"Tell me what you seek and I'll give it to you, my lovely ladies," the sibilant hisses fell from his silver tongue.

"Power," said immediately the Critic from the right. She was surely the most bad-tempered and probably insane but she was also the most dangerous and powerful. The venom in her fangs sang in delight, basking in the presence of the wizard's dark aura. She sought to be part of him.

Enticed by the power of her venom, the Dark Lord wound the Critic's head around his neck.

"Freedom," said the Dreamer from the middle for she longed to live her own life. She sought to be free from the permanent presence of her sisters who never understood her thirst to see the world outside this grim old place. She wanted to explore, to discover, to roam... to live!

Sneering at her mundane dreams and fearing that she might corrupt the others, the Dark Lord tore the Dreamer away from her sisters and threw her to the ground.

"Protection," said the Planner from the left. Neither as ambitious as the Critic nor as brave as the Dreamer, she valued her life above all and recognised the wizard's immense power. If he could truly protect her, she wouldn't mind going with him.

With a satisfied smirk, the Dark Lord wound the Planner around his feet.

And so were the Black Runespoor torn into three. In due course, the Dark Lord continued on his journey. He battled his opponents and gathered his allies. The Critic became his most-feared servant, striking fear in the heart of many at her mere sight. The Planner remained hidden behind the Dark Lord, working in secrecy and never revealing herself.

Until one day when the Dark Lord fell at the hand of his prophesied nemesis. The Critic was immediately captured and caged. No matter how much she raged and hissed, she remained behind the bars – powerless. The Planner fled from the fallen wizard and her sister. Hiding in the shadows of her enemies, every moment became a fight for survival as she roamed through the unknown territory – unprotected.

As for second sister, she had long since healed her gaping wounds with the unbearable agony bleeding into an enthralled joy of discovery and wonder. She met a pleasant muddy brown adder and they hatched a single snakelet whose scales glimmered every colour of the rainbow. The Dreamer was content and even happy. Yet, her dreams always retained that tinge of dark - a void left by the gaping absence of her two sisters.

* * *

An AU where the Black Sisters were shown as Black Runespoor: Bella being the Critic, Andromeda the Dreamer and Narcissa as the Planner. The Dark Lord was of course Lord Voldemort.


	84. Riddle

Riddle

When Tom Riddle Jr. - bastard son of the noble Tom Riddle Sr. and the tramp Merope Gaunt - turns up at Little Hangleton, rumours and gossips run amok amongst the villagers. Overnight, news about the loud altercation between father and son becomes the main highlight of the mundane small village.

And when Tom Riddle Sr. and his parents are found murdered in their mansion, all fingers point towards the charming young bastard. For who has a better motive than the estranged bitter son? But is it as simple and straightforward? Is Tom Riddle Jr. really the murderer?

Or is he the next victim?


	85. Bella's Kitchen

**Bella's Kitchen**

"So how is it?"

"It's..." Druella dithered as she struggled to find the appropriate word to encompass her horrified bemusement, "acceptable."

Looking back, it was probably not such a good idea to punish Bellatrix by ordering her to clean and arrange the kitchen (like a filthy house elf). The fourteen-year old girl had always been a tad too... creative. Druella found herself rooted at the entrance of her kitchen while trying her best to not let the horror reflect on her face. She could barely recognise her homely (and extremely lavish) kitchen. All the utensils were re-arranged as if tools of torture - even the spoon seemed unnerving with the way the light reflected off its shiny edges. The large cooking pots that her daughter had dragged out reminded her of the humongous cauldrons used for human rituals. The red-on-white striped wallpaper (as if human entrails smeared on the white wall) barely helped.

Her kitchen had become a torture-house.

Reluctantly nodding at her daughter's proud smile, Druella almost ran out of the kitchen. She momentarily recalled the betrothal contract that Cygnus had signed for Bella with the Lestrange Heir. Troubling concerns for her eldest daughter had kept her awake for several nights. It seemed like she had been worrying for the wrong person.


	86. Obsessed

**Obsessed**

He never understood why the Sorting Hat had placed him in Slytherin. Unlike his ambitious housemates, he neither hungered for power nor sought fame. With his naive outlook and frank attitude, he never fitted in his House's cunning and harsh politics. He was the outsider in his own home.

Until he met him.

For the first time, his heart, his mind, his body... his whole being ached for something. The soft voice ensnared his senses; the pale his face lingered in his dreams. And for the first time, he used every bit of cunning he had learnt from his housemates to possess him. He stalked him, he spied on him and he captured him.

"Please, Montague. Let me go."

He hated the tremors in the soft voice. Did Theo see that he loved him? His little angel had nothing to worry about when he was with him. He gently caressed the trembling boy, trying to soothe his unwarranted worries.

"It's going to be okay, Theo. Don't worry."

Yes, the Sorting Hat had plenty of reasons to place him in Slytherin.


	87. Draco The Hero

**Draco The Hero**

Draco Malfoy wasn't having the best of days. It was Christmas Eve and instead of lazing at Malfoy Manor, he was in one of the muggle shopping malls of London. The raucous laughs and shrill shrieks tormented his ears while the beady gaze of the vulture-like old persons grated on his skin. He grimaced as a group of boisterous teenagers brushed past him without even apologising. It was like being in the midst of thousands of Weasleys.

Looking back, he probably should have asked Astoria to accompany him to this shopping mall. At least, his fiancee had a working knowledge of the muggle world. Maybe, she would have been able to guide him through this utterly awful hell. Or maybe, she would have told him what the hell was a 'Walkman'. All he learnt was that it had ironically nothing to do with a walking man and that muggle salespersons were vicious and cruel creatures.

"So, Teddy," he turned to the reason for which had been so patiently braving this bright and loud shopping mall, "anything caught your eye? Anything that you really want and would be the best gift you could possibly imagine?"

Because Draco still recalled last Christmas when Precious Potter had given Teddy a child broomstick and it was proclaimed to be the 'bwestest gwift eva'. This year, there was no way Scarhead was giving Draco's only remaining cousin the greatest gift. It didn't matter if Draco had to go through every single wizarding alley with his little cousin or even if he had to venture in muggle world as last resort. Teddy, who was currently supporting Malfoy blond hair (to Draco's immense pleasure), shrugged nonchalantly which staring at him with innocent emerald green eyes (to Draco's immense horror).

"Hmm, what about a snake pet? Snakes can be very fierce protectors and are perfect for future Slytherins. Or maybe, you would like an eagle because Ravenclaw isn't so bad," Draco tried to tempt his four-year old cousin at the risk of sounding like a cheap WWW infomercial. "I've even heard that muggles practice falconry. What do you think of a falcon, one which will deliver your letters faster than any owl? We could also-"

It was at that moment that he saw a fellow wizard staring at them with hawk-like eyes. For a terrifying second, he thought that Dumbledore had come back to life to avenge his final moments. There was no other wizard that he knew of with such flowing beard, creepy grandfatherly smile and garish sense of fashion. And the next second he realised that no matter how many lemon drops he sucked on, Dumbledore would have never been so fat. Even Goyle after having gorged on a full Halloween feast as well as his nocturnal snacks and wrapped in his huge fluffy blanket would have looked like a bowtruckle next to Fat-Not-Dumbledore.

"Hello," beamed the stranger as he approached the two of them.

"Hello," Draco sneered, tightening his hold on Teddy's shoulder. If Fat-Not-Dumbledore had thought that the Gryffindor red attire was going to trick Draco into lowering his defences, he was sadly mistaken. He had seen Gryffindor's real side many times at Hogwarts. Almost ten years had passed but he still hadn't forgotten Granger's vicious punch.

"Such a sweet little child," Fat-Not-Dumbledore knelt in front of Teddy, who was now hiding behind the Slytherin's leg. Draco frantically looked at the regular shoppers who carried on without paying any attention to the three of them.

"A muggle-repelling ward," he cursed under his breath, "or maybe, a notice-me-not charm." Yet he didn't risk taking his wand out in front of so many muggles.

"Here's a gift for a good boy."

Draco froze as the stranger removed a wrapped box from a red sack. His blood chilled; he momentarily found himself in Three Broomsticks' bathroom in his Sixth Year. He saw himself handing the naive Rosmerta a similarly wrapped cursed item.

"Not my cousin, you bastard!" Draco yelled, swinging Teddy into his arms. With a loud snarl, he kicked the stranger in the shins (who immediately went down with a pained howl). He kicked the Fat-Not-Dumbledore a second time so that he wouldn't rise... and a third time too (because he wore Gryffindor red). And then, pressing his cousin tight against his chest, he ran to the exit.

As he turned on the spot to disapparate the both of them, he could hear distant shrieks of "Someone has beaten up Santa Claus!".

* * *

When later, during dinner, Teddy narrated the whole story with full - and maybe exaggerated - details and proclaimed that Draco was 'bwestest hero eva!' (Potter looked like he had sucked a lemon), the Slytherin realised that maybe the day hadn't been so bad.

* * *

Written for Ultimate Battle Competition 2 - Round 1

Chosen Prompt: [relation] cousins

Optional Prompt: (Hawk Wings) Birds of prey mentioned include 'vulture', 'eagle', 'falcon', 'owl' &amp; 'hawk'


	88. Slytherin Green

**Slytherin Green**

Draco's right eye twitched in annoyance.

For years, he had strived and toiled for this very moment. He had laboured over the unordinarily stressful OWLs and nastily exhausting NEWTs. He had waded through tomes as heavy as himself and he had braved the numbing classes of Hogwarts. He had even faced the idiots of Department of International Magical Cooperation with a fake smile. And now, he had finally his dream within his grasp. He was here in his own office decorated with Slytherin Green walls - Slytherin Green to show his noble roots and his burgeoning new start. It would have been perfect...

... if only the stupid walls didn't remind him of stupid Potter's eyes.

Draco glared at the walls as if they mocked him with the images of Potter's bright green eyes staring at him. Even when not burdening him with his insufferable presence, that damn Gryffindor found a way to torment him. The stinging annoyance changed in a rage as he stormed out of his office.

"Potter! Potter!" Draco yelled, entering the Auror's Office. He watched with (rather substantial) pleasure as the black-haired man toppled from the seat on which he has been lounging.

"What the hell, Malfoy? What-"

"You ruined everything! Everything!" Draco jabbed the Gryffindor with his finger. He paid no heed to the Weasel (who seemed torn between indignation for his friend and confusion over what was happening; the result was a disgustingly constipated look) and Bones (who was feigning indifference and utterly failing at it).

"Ow! Ow! Bloody hell, Malfoy. This hurts. What happened?"

"Your eyes happened!" Draco hissed, clenching his fists in utter fury. "For years, I've worked and toiled to have my own office - one with Slytherin-themed walls. And now that I got it, the green walls remind me of your stupid pretty eyes!"

Potter froze with his hands in his hair. His eyes bugged out. "What?" a high-pitched voice shrieked before he remedied and said again in a normal voice, "What?"

"I keep seeing them wherever I look. They keep staring at me like some besotted orbs, haunting every minute of my life."

"Can't you- I don't know- Hmm," Potter said, proving his utter lack of eloquence. By his side, Weasel has replaced his constipated look with his signature clueless one while Bones was hiding herself behind a stack of files (judging by her shaking frame, she was either laughing or sobbing). "Can't you- just change the colour of the walls or something?"

"Have you even been listening to me? I want them to be Slytherin Green - the colour of my House. It shows my cunning and noble side. It represents new start, a new horizon. Green calms people down when they're stresses. Green is my favourite colour. Just like your eyes!" Silence punctuated the end of his rant.

"Mate, do you want me to insult him back?" Weasel whispered in Potter's ear.

"I- I'm not even sure if it was an insult..."

"Potter! Don't you have anything to say? You know I'm right. I'm always right." Draco scowled, ignoring Potter's confusing words.

"I don't know what to say... I'm sorry that my eyes are pretty? I guess, your eyes are kinda pretty too, you know like molten silver..." Potter rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks turned bright red.

"Harry!" Weasel hissed. He looked as if his best friend had just confessed his profound hatred for Chudley Cannon. Draco wasn't faring much better. He found himself speechless as the traitorous anger faded into nothing. He tried for a proper comeback but his mind remained blank.

"Well, they are!" Harry hotly defended his words, looking at everything except Draco. "They are so bright and shiny. You can't help looking at them."

"I'll... I'll just leave," Draco rasped.

"Okay," Harry nodded and after running his hand through his hair (no wonder it looked like a Fwooper's nest), he hesitantly continued, "Malfoy, do you want to have lunch with me later? We could discuss this whole Slytherin Green thing."

"Sure," He didn't know what else he could say. For some reason, he felt like his whole body was floating and there were those things fluttering in his stomach. It was... bizarre. He didn't even realise when he left the Aurors and walked to his own office. He came to a stop as he stared at his Slytherin-themed walls. He could still see Potter's eyes in those green hues and for some weird reason, the silver accents now recalled him his own eyes. It was uncanny how well they complemented each other.

Draco tried to scowl. He did!

There was certainly not a goofy grin on his lips.

* * *

Written for Pick Your Poison Competition

**Mandatory Prompt**: Write about your pairing making up after an argument.

**Optional Prompt**: "You know I'm right. I'm always right."


	89. This is War

**This is War**

It felt like it had been ages since the prank war had been going on (in fact, it had been exactly twenty years but since it was about bureaucratic workers, those twenty years did feel like ages). No one knew how it started. Some say that one day, Ronald had called a precious Marauder relic 'just a bloody map' and the Marauder Heir had to challenge the Weasley to a prank war to defend his honour. Others whisper that during a Quidditch match, Harry had supported Puddlemere United over Chudley Canons and Ronald was so furious that he vowed to prank his best friend every Halloween. Despite the murky origins of the clash, every Ministry worker knew about the war. The blood-chilling stories were told to scared interns during lunch breaks as a traditional welcome. Scars of past victories - whether they were a persistent lock of bright pink hair or a creased picture of embarrassing circumstances - were proudly shown, boasting of their survival and strength.

Every Halloween, while the both worlds (Magical and muggle) celebrated the festival, the deep foundations of Ministry of Magic dissolved into chaos. Potter and Weasley (ordinarily best friends every other day of the year) battled against each other to soothe their wounds of the past, dragging the rest of their colleagues into a vicious and visceral prank war. Every year, secretaries laden with talismans and charms could be seen scurrying in the shadows of the corridors. Screams of frustration punctuated the daily drone of mind-numbing work. Bright hair illuminated the dark rooms. Fluorescent skins shone like a beacon. Threats were exchanged; protections were promised. Friendship and enmity broke at a moment's notice. It was utter pandemonium.

Nothing and no one at the Ministry ever escaped the annual Weasleys Wheezes versus The Marauders prank war.

* * *

On the bright morning of 31st October 2017, Harry Potter entered the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. His left arm clutched his briefcase to his chest, assuring the protection of precious pran- he meant, Unspeakable tools. He could feel everyone's eyes of him. Fighting the growing paranoia, he nevertheless remained alert for any prank attack. His hands fingered the reassuring touch of his wand. Chuckles and whispers followed his loud steps. Frowning, he wondered if he was dreaming about coming to work naked again. He patted his body and found his familiar red and black uniform. Relieved, he turned round the corner only to freeze mid-step.

Replacing the Magical Brethen statue was a humongous sculpture of his own person or at least someone with the same uncontrollable hair nest and bright eyes. But he didn't recall ever having such an insipid smile on his face and he definitely didn't own a pair of purple robes (Ginny would have said it was something along the line of eggplant purple or maybe violet but no matter what name, Harry hated that colour). And worst, in the hands of the statue was a plaque which read "I love Gilderoy Lockhart."

Snarling, Harry quickly dismantled the illusion wards but the damage was already done.

"Well played, Ronald. Well played," he muttered under his breath as he stormed towards his office, pointedly ignoring the amused stares and blatant giggling.

* * *

Sitting in his office, Harry stared at the scarlet clock adorning his wall. The steaming cup of tea rested on his hand.

'Three,' he counted in his mind.

'Two.'

'One.'

Harry hid his smile behind the cup as a loud girlish shriek broke the morning silence. Yes, it seemed like Weasley had found the room full of plush toys – ten feet tall plushies of black spiders.

* * *

"I think I'm in love with you." Harry froze as the words left his lips. That was definitely not what he meant to say. He hastened to apologise to the wide-eyed intern (who looked on the verge of fainting). "Your eyes are really pretty. No, I mean, they remind me of glittering sapphires. Argh, sapphires! Sapphires! Bloody heavenly eyes!" Harry clenched his fists while he fumed. No matter what he was trying to say, all that came out was these ridiculous declarations. Harry glared at his second cup of tea. He couldn't believe that someone managed to spike his tea - someone who was going to spend the rest of his/her life as a puffskein, a gaudy purple puffskein. Turning to the traumatised intern, he tried to correct himself. "Sorry, Ms. Cambridge, your eyes are the embodiment of heavens."

"I...I think," the young woman stuttered with pink blotches on her cheeks, "your eyes are pretty too, Sir."

Harry groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the worst!

"Not as perfect as your breasts." Harry turned red as soon as he heard his own words. He barely reacted when Cambridge squeaked and fled from his office. _This_ was the worst.

* * *

Harry sat in the dark office, his face half-hidden in the shadows. Ronald was leading but not for long. He knew exactly where to hit him. Ron was his best friend, he truly was. But Harry was the son of a Marauder and the godson of another. There was no way he was losing a prank way. He raised his head when his assistant, Terry Boot, entered the office.

"Did you manage to do it?"

"Yes."

"Did you get the pictures?"

"Yes. Here they are."

Harry took the photographs and couldn't stop the laughter bubbling inside him. Ronald Weasley in Puddlemere United uniform was definitely a sight to watch. He chuckled as his friend's face turned bright red from fury and tried to remove the uniform which simply didn't budge (and they wouldn't till the end of the day.)

"Maroon isn't really his colour, is it?"

"No, Terry, it's definitely not."

* * *

Harry closed his eyes in pleasure as he savoured the treacle tart - his sole light in this dreary trying day. The day had been truly tiring. It was barely two in the afternoon and by now, two of his colleagues had their skin turned neon green. Perkins was still clucking like a hen in the office next to his. Trent had gone for lunch and had yet to return; Harry hoped that he hadn't been ambushed - Trent was the best in Potions and Antidotes they had. But at least, Malfoy had the insight to bring some treats to calm the fraying nerves of the team. The ferret had probably been a brat in Hogwarts but he had turned in a rather great ma-

Wait, was it a breeze on the top of his head?

Harry opened his eyes, the spoon half raised to his lips, and groaned at the sight of his hair at his feet. He grimaced as he ran his hand along his bald head. It felt... leathery? But how could have Ron-

The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes at Malfoy who was standing more stiffly than ever.

"Malfoy, you slimy traitor! You betrayed your own team!" Harry jumped to the shivering Slytherin,

"Oh please, Potter!" Malfoy tried to say in his usual pompous attitude - which would have worked, had he not been refusing to meet his eyes. "I did you a service. That nest you called hair was a true eyesore."

"I can't believe that you chose a Weasley over me? What did he offer? A year-long supply of slimy hair gel?"

"No. If you need to know, he promised me a year-long supply of Mrs. Weasley's mince pies," Malfoy said before darting away out of his office.

Harry grumbled under his breath. Mrs. Weasley's mince pies were truly heavenly but he would have never betrayed his team for them... probably.

"Do you want me to catch him, Harry?" Terry said, peering at where Malfoy disappeared.

"No, let him," Harry said and with a shark-like grin, he added, "He'll get his comeuppance when my secret weapon reveals himself." Terry paled at the cackle which left Harry's lips.

* * *

"We are so close to the end!" Ron rejoiced. His teammates were grouped around him, along with his allies - Percy, Malfoy and that Bulstrode girl. With a few minutes left, there was no way Harry was winning this.

"You shouldn't underestimate Harry," Percy said in his usual pompous manner, "After all, as Marauder's Heir, we solemnly swear-"

At the utter of those famous words, Ron instantly knew that something was wrong. Auror's skills kicking in, he jumped from his seat towards his brother, wand in hand. But it was too late.

"-that we're up to no good."

A loud explosion of pink smoke announced the end of the password. Ron froze, feeling the wash of magic over him. With seconds the pink dissipated revealing the pranked group - in a horrendously familiar pink cardigan with the words "Dolores' Angels" stitched in. As if it wasn't enough, all their hair has been transfigured to the matching (and revolting) wig.

"Percy! How could you?" Ron shouted, ignoring Malfoy whimpers of "my hair!".

"Sorry, Uncle Ron!" Percy grinned before transforming into a familiar twenty-year old metamaphorgus with turquoise hair. "Uncle Percy is out today. He got an inside tip about a supplier with unregulated cauldron bottoms."

And before Ron could say or do anything, the Hufflepuff was out of the door. As the clock chimed five, Ron yelled, "Harry!"

* * *

"Twenty years!" Shacklebolt snarled as Harry and Ron sat in his office, chastised like misbehaved students. "I had enough. I did everything I could to stop you. I threatened you, bribed you, tried to talk to you. But you guys just won't understand, will you?"

Harry sulked, staring at his lap. He couldn't believe that he was sitting here in the Minister's office instead enjoying himself at the Burrow's annual feast. He sneaked a peek at Ron who looked as if Christmas had been cancelled. Harry winced. Withholding food from Ron was like snatching a candy from a child, or a book from Hermione.

"You two are my top Auror and Unspeakable. Normally, I would have never even thought of doing this." Harry raised his head and stared at Shacklebolt who looked extrememly solemn. "Ï called your wives."

For a moment, Harry felt like someone had punched him. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk, he couldn't even breathe. The prank war had always been considered as Ministry news and astonishingly, not one word had ever leaked to the outside, and definitely not to his wife. He barely heard Ron pleading to the Minister.

"...was just for fun. Hermione's going to kill me, Shacklebolt. And when she's done, she's going to bring back as an inferi and kill me again. Harry! Harry, we need to flee from here. Let's hide some place, like France or Japan, for a few months... or even years."

But Harry knew that it was futile. The harm was already done. He tried to speak, ignoring the rising wave of panic inside him.

"Hide from Hermione and Ginny? They'll sniff us out of the moon within one hour," he rose from his seat and gave his friend a one-armed hug, "Ron, I never said it before and I probably don't have much time left. You're the best friend one could possibly have. You were always here for me. You're the brother I always dreamed of."

"And you're my brother in all but blood, Harry, my best brother. You are the friend I probably didn't deserve but I got."

At that precise moment, the doors slammed open with a pair of loud furious yells.

"Harry James Potter!"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."


	90. Plume, Petal and Potions

**Plume, Petal and Potions**

He would surely scoff at the idea but his husband was like the plume of an albino peacock - as pale and ethereal as the full moon, ostensibly beautiful and proud enough to rival an actual peacock's cockiness. But beneath those arrogant strut was a man so devoted to his family that he would happily sacrifice his own life for them.

His wife was surely the most beautiful of the three of them. Far prettier than the flower she was named after, she was the epitome of grace and elegance. Life itself blossomed under her smiles; her laughs would bring the warmth of summer amidst the dreary winter. And she wouldn't hesitate to sprout thorns to protect her loved ones.

And he? He was the Potions Master. Deftly handling Potions ingredients every hour of his life, he knew how to bring out their best and how to tamper their worst. He was the one to soothe the albino plume's occasional jitters. He was the one to coax the delicate petal into her full fragrance.

And now, smiling at the bawling red-faced newborn in his arm, he knew that this synergy was, undoubtedly, the greatest discovery of his life.

* * *

Written for Weekly Pairings Drabble Competition - Week 7

Pairing: Poly - Severus/Narcissa/Lucius

Written for The Restricted Section

Prompt: 6. Restriction - You cannot use any character's names in your story.


	91. The Summoning

**The Summoning**

"...and remember to visualise the person intently while saying the incantation," the Summoning Professor's voice rang through the dark classroom.

Ignoring the rest of his classmates standing in front of their own station, Viktor stared at the burning leaves of sage and elderberry. His dark eyes followed the hypnotic dance of the fumes. One year had passed but he could still feel the soft lips pressed against his own. For a brief moment, he could hear the faint tinkle of his laughs as they raced through the Quidditch Pitch. Those golden locks, those clear grey eyes, that chiselled face... Like a man lost in the scorching desert, he yearned for a final glimpse, for one last crutch of support. His fingers clenched by sides as he lost himself in the memories of the gone days. And the whispered incantation left his lips like an earnest prayer.

The fumes rose higher and higher as the seconds trickled by. The wisps of smoke got denser, changing into a translucent body, then into limbs and finally into a painfully familiar face. A small smile adorned the white lips but Viktor could see the grief and regrets swirling in those eyes as they looked at him. Tears sprung in his own eyes, blurring his vision but he hastily wiped them away, refusing to lose even one moment with him. He didn't know how long he remained there, staring at the summoned spirit and drinking in the sight like a desperate thirsty wanderer. He had thought of so many things to explain, to defend, to cry about but all that left his lips was:

"Sorry."

Sorry for not having been determined enough to fight against the Imperius in the maze, sorry for not having been fast enough to get to the Cup first, sorry for not having been strong enough to save him.

Sorry for not having been there for him..

* * *

Written for Weekly Pairings Drabble Competition

Pairing: Cedric/Viktor

Written for The Restricted Section

Prompt: Write a romance story


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